


A Cooperative Patient - English translation

by Leniam



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: AU sort of, Hannibal gives Will a hard time, Hannibal is Hannibal, Implied non-consensual, M/M, Manipulative Hannibal, Multiple times, Will Loves Hannibal, Will is a Mess, Will is annoying, Will isn't sure, pun intended
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2018-10-09 05:57:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 32,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10405437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leniam/pseuds/Leniam
Summary: Hannibal and Will's relationship in an alternative, very rapid development.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [A Cooperative Patient](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8231824) by [Leniam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leniam/pseuds/Leniam). 



> This is my very first fic and the very first  
> [BETWEEN-IRONANDSILVER](http://between-ironandsilver.tumblr.com/) translated. This is where I fell in love with her translations. 
> 
>  
> 
> I felt the need to write about these two after just a few episodes.  
> At first, I wrote a one-shot where I didn't even use their names, just taking inspiration from the characters was enough. When it wasn't anymore, and I went on writing about them, the characters finally became Will and Hannibal. And my one-shot (hidden somewhere among these chapters) turned into a longer fanfiction before I could realize what was happening.  
> This story is set in the first season, but almost everything is different. Including the doctor's house and his office, that I needed to be in the same place in this fic, whereas they're actually two separate buildings in the series.  
> I stole some of the original scenes and turned them into something different, and I am sorry about that, but not really.  
> Hannibal is a wonderful show, I will never say that enough, but it's still fun to find any possible excuse to change the original scenes and create new scenarios. I've never enjoyed writing about possible AU's and slight OOC's this much.  
> And even though I try to keep any OOC part to a minumum, it's still bound to happen sometimes. My view of the characters is different from the original Will and Hannibal and I needed both characters to be a bit more within my reach, since I am no philosopher or brilliant mastermind. Anyway, I'm writing a lot now, and that is absolutely priceless to me. Thank you for taking time to read my works. 
> 
> Len  
> [SCRIVO](https://len-scrive.tumblr.com/)  
>   
> Questo è un posticino ancora abbastanza spoglio dove intendo racchiudere tutto quello che mi passa per la mente su ciò che scrivo e che non dico qui. Spero anche un posto in cui poter inserire altri miei progetti per il futuro.

Will would gladly point out to him that personal space is not meant to be invaded like that. And constantly invaded, at every possible chance he gets.

Hannibal seems to be using his physical appearance, a quite imposing one as it is, to make a point. His lean figure imposing on him as if to say “I am here, can you see me?”

 

And yes, Will can fucking see him and that is upsetting him.

Hannibal’s technique is doing wonders.

 

 

 

For instance, Hannibal told him he smells bad.

He made it sound like Will just needed to change his aftershave, but the fact remains that the doctor smelled him and then reproached him for his choice of cologne.

Well… what was that for?

 

And then he just stays there, looming over Will’s shoulders like some kind of elegant vulture.

 

Will is thinking that maybe, since he smells that bad, Hannibal should just move away from him, but it’s useless, and Will himself has to slip away because of how uneasy the man makes him feel.

 

Will hasn’t thought over the twofold nature of his feeling yet; his need of running to that office every time he feels alone or needs to vent, yet clashing with the urge of running away as soon as Hannibal starts talking.

 

The doctor rummages around in his mind, he voices every single one of Will’s intimate thoughts better than he ever could, he gets close to him, he corners him against a ladder, a window, a desk; a never-ending dance, while Will runs from him.

 

And he touches him. Hannibal touches him like no one, not even the ones Will wanted to, has ever done before.

 

Not even his father touched him, not even to flick him.

 

Hannibal does way more than that; a hand on his shoulder, left there for long seconds, not a quick pat; or a hand on his back, so that Will has to twist away and take a step forward to free himself; a caress on his finger when Hannibal takes a book out of his hands.

 

A few afternoons before, Hannibal had raised Will’s chin and touched the back of his index finger to Will’s jaw, asking him if the scratch he found there came from cutting himself while shaving.

Then he had proceeded to list several shops that sold shaving products of a better quality than the ones he could find in a supermarket, and he had offered to take Will there and help him choose, if he wanted.

 

And Will had mulled it over for two whole seconds before answering he didn’t need to, because he actually wanted to take him up on the offer. He hadn’t spent time with someone he considered a friend since high school.

 

He wanted to, but he still doesn’t know if he can consider Hannibal a friend.

 

“Will,” Hannibal sits down in front of him, taking on his usual position; he leans forward with his elbows on his knees, his wide hands conjoined. Will stares at them for a while, unable to see anything else. He knows he should reply, because Hannibal called his name, but he fears his voice won’t come out.

 

Hannibal calls him again. “Will…”

 

“Mh?” Will makes a sound while taking in the way Hannibal’s shirt and jacket rode up to uncover Hannibal’s wrists. No watch, his veins so prominent they look like they’re about to burst.

 

“Don’t you ever wear something a size bigger?” Will asks with a curious tone. Hannibal loves to show off his body, despite how uncomfortable his clothes look; everything clings to him as if someone had just gotten him wet with a bucket of water.

 

Will, instead, could get dressed jumping straight into his clothes.

 

Hannibal frowns.

 

“Nevermind,” Will shakes his head, “Ignore it.”

 

“Will, have you thought about our last conversation about Jack?” Hannibal asks.

 

“You mean about the fact that you’re trying to alienate me from him?”

 

“I was actually referring to him pushing you over your limits.”

 

“It’s important that I stay on the field, at least until the Ripper is caught,” Will retorts.

 

“Why do you have to be the one to take care of this?” Hannibal inquires.

 

“He’s the most dangerous one, he does not have a type of victim, he kills randomly for a brief period of time, then disappears for months. There are too many others pretending to take his place, I think he will strike again soon. And it has to be me because… because I am good at what I do. I can help understand him. It could be anyone, seriously anyone. It could be even you.”

 

Will laughs to underline the joke. Hannibal is silent instead, and he is motionless. For a couple of seconds.

 

“You can stop being out there in the field, then, can’t you? If it is me, then arrest me,” the doctor says with a scornful sneer.

 

“Sure,” Will tells him, playing along, “but I need to prove it. Or are you going to surrender?”

 

“Do you want to look around the house for evidence?” comes Hannibal’s offer.

 

“That would be useless. The Ripper takes his victims’ organs as trophies. Unless he keeps them in jars with formaldehyde… and that could be the case. I wouldn’t want to see his room,” Will wrinkles his nose, disgusted at the hypothesis.

 

“He does not keep them… then what does he do with them? Black market?” Hannibal goes on.

 

Will appreciates these conversations. There is nothing like an exchange of opinions with Hannibal to help Will towards a significant turn in one of his investigations. And this one hasn’t even started yet. The idea of the Ripper striking again is for now just that, an idea.

 

“I would rule out that possibility. He’s a serial killer. A serial killer would never give away his trophies,” Will comments.

 

“You should focus on his motive to kill, then. That’s the only train of thought that can help you find out what he is doing with the organs.”

Will sighs. That is not the kind of conversation he can conclude in a few minutes. He tries to approximately outline something.

 

“The images of the crime scenes make me think of a public humiliation, some sort of punishment of the victims, who are unworthy of life. Maybe… they are guilty of being uncivilized, rude, undeserving of society…” Will talks freely, as he hadn’t been able to do while studying the case files for months.

 

“Public humiliation…” Hannibal repeats.

 

Will leans forward on his chair, taken with their conversation.

 

“He treats them as if they weren’t human, as if they were…”

 

“Animals?” Hannibal speculates.

 

“Pigs,” Will finishes for him. And then, in a sudden realization, he knows for sure what the Ripper is doing with all the harvested organs. “Do you know what you do with pigs, Doctor?”

 

“You butcher them?”

 

“You eat them.”

 

Hannibal frowns, surprised more because of the ending to this story than because of the way they got there, Will presumes.

 

“Therefore, if I were the Ripper, I would be a cannibal?”

 

Will smiles widely. “Hannibal the cannibal.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translated by Ashley  
> [BETWEEN-IRONANDSILVER](http://between-ironandsilver.tumblr.com/)

Will is fidgeting nervously while driving to Hannibal’s place.

 

He must have ignored at least a couple of red lights, and some rights-of-way, too.

He brakes suddenly, and he speeds up without any reason to, but it’s nighttime and luckily for him, his troubled driving doesn’t do any real harm.

 

Will is uncomfortable because of that same reason, it’s night. And he is not hesitating at all before driving to Baltimore to see Hannibal and talk to him. When he’s upset, for whatever reason, it’s always Hannibal he runs to.

 

Some people find comfort in those that reassure them, hug them, tell them everything will be alright, Will prefers honesty, someone who is realistic and pragmatic, on the edge of being cruel.

 

Seeing Hannibal is becoming more and more of a physical need; sometimes Will feels like he’s holding his breath all day long, constantly feeling uneasy; his stomach feels empty, some sort of dormant melancholy around him. Then at the end of the day, during his appointment with Hannibal, he gets better. He talks, he gestures, he smiles, too, from time to time.

 

As soon as he gets in front of the castle, asHannibal’s house is called among FBI officers, he stops the car and, for the first time since he started driving, he starts thinking things over.

 

Should he really knock on Hannibal’s door at two in the morning and wake him up without having anything to say? Because Will doesn’t really know why he needed to go there.

 

But the urge is more pressing than the explanation he does not have, so Will gets out of the car and rings the doorbell. He waits a few seconds and then rings again. And again. It doesn’t really matter anymore, anyway…

 

As wide as his house can be, Hannibal can’t really be taking that long to open the door. He must be out for the night. He’s spending the night with someone. Well, of course, why wouldn’t Hannibal be seeing a woman, why wouldn’t he have lovers, friends…?

 

Will gets back to his car and closes the door. He puts his head down on the steering wheel and sighs.

The idea of Hannibal not being there for him shocks him way more than he was before. He took it for granted that Hannibal didn’t have a social life, just like him, and he had convinced himself that they were both alone.

 

He had been wrong.

 

 

 

 

On the following day, Will calls off his evening appointment with the doctor, even though he knows he will feel bad about it, terribly so. But that is exactly what persuades him that it’s better if he keeps his distance, maybe forever.

He will tell Hannibal that he needs to stop their sessions, needs to stop seeing him, and he will tell Jack that he doesn’t need any help. His brain can work well on its own.

 

It’s already getting late and Will is pacing around the house, and after an entire day spent worrying, he’s now unable to sleep.

 

He wants to see Hannibal so badly that the weird feeling in his gut is back. It’s like his inner organs were missing and a balloon had taken their place, dilating more and more until it drove the breath out of his lungs, making him sigh. Then it hollowed out leaving too much emptiness behind. And then it all started again from the beginning. Will felt like crying.

 

It’s the third time he tries to distract himself with reading, or sitting down and working on his lures, but it is not working.

 

Until the phone starts ringing.

 

Will is afraid it’s Jack; who else would call him that late if not him, needing him on a crime scene?

 

He reads Dr. Lecter’s name on his phone display, and, despite all the resolutions he made, he picks up instantly.

 

“Doctor?”

 

“Will, I was worried I would bother you, but you are not sleeping…” Hannibal doesn’t waste any time on small talk.

 

“N-no. It’s nothing new, I am used to it.”

 

“In your best interest, I would rather you didn’t get used to it,” Hannibal scolds him with a paternalistic tone.

 

“Tell me, do you need anything?” Will asks him, without even trying to guess why Hannibal would call him at this hour.

 

“I am merely worried, maybe inappropriately so, but still, I… I can’t suppress it. You canceled your appointment…”

 

“Does every psychiatrist call their patients on their phones, in the middle of the night, whenever they cancel a session?”

 

Oh god, he doesn’t want to sound harsh and resentful, and he doesn’t even feel like that, but spitting out that question is the only way he has of disguising his desire of being told that he is not just a patient, he’s unique.

 

On the other side, Hannibal makes a smacking sound with his lips before he replies.

“That is why I said my call could be considered inappropriate.”

 

“Doctor…” Will starts, then he thinks better of it, “Hannibal. I didn’t mean… I am not offended, why would I be? I’m just… it’s possible that I am having difficulties reading your gestures for what they really are.”

 

“You speak too often using the language of deprived and dangerous minds,” Hannibal says, “It is not abnormal for you to find it difficult to accept fondness.”

 

Fondness, Will repeats in his mind. And he gets lost in thought for a while.

 

“Will?”

 

“Yes, I’m here.”

 

“May I come over?” Hannibal asks.

 

Will understands the question perfectly, but he tries to win himself some time. “What?”

 

“Would it bother you if I were there with you in about a hour?” Hannibal repeats.

 

“Y-y-you… you don’t have to worry that much,” Will begins, and he presses down between his eyes with a thumb, cursing himself because that is not what he wants to say to Hannibal.

 

“Will, you only need to tell me if I am allowed to come or not,” the man cuts him off.

 

“Yes, yes, of course,” Will speaks those next words with such ease now that he wonders why he found it that hard to do just seconds ago.

 

“I will see you later,” Hannibal ends their conversation.

 

What’s wrong with that?

 

Will sits on the floor and leans back against his bed. His heart is hammering in his chest, the former emptiness replaced by warmth.

 

 

 

 

Will hears Hannibal’s steps reverberate through the house. He turns around, sees him, and smiles.

Hannibal joins him where he is sitting and takes his place beside him. “You will get cold,” he tells him, observing him. Will is wearing his usual t-shirt and pair of boxers as sleepwear. But it is cold and even more so sitting on the floor, and he only realizes it now.

“Have you ever had another patient needy to the point that you had to run to them in the middle of the night to make sure they weren’t freezing to death… or die from sleep deprivation?” Will tries to sound witty, but his voice is unsteady.

“I can tell you that I have never had a friend whose well-being meant this much to me,” Hannibal promptly provides. He takes off his heavy jacket with quick movements and puts it over Will’s back.

“I wanted to call you and ask you to come here,” Will admits. It comes out as natural as breathing, he doesn’t even try to make it sound like something different.

“Why?”

“I don’t know, maybe I was feeling lonely,” Will goes on.

“You can call me if you’re feeling lonely, Will. I am your friend and whenever I can help…”

“You can’t… You don’t have to help me, it’s not your responsibility. Being my friend doesn’t mean I can taint you with my troubles.”

“And it’s no accident that I am a therapist too. Lucky you, isn’t it?” Hannibal teases.

Will smiles, nodding and staring in front of himself; he doesn’t dare look at Hannibal, he is afraid he would finally understand something he would rather have as a doubt.

“You almost always look miserable and pensive…” Hannibal starts again, “I wouldn’t be able to say for sure what is more unusual for you, smiling or getting a healthy amount of sleep every once in a while,and looking at you, I would say you are not even eating enough. I would like to know what’s wrong and find a way to help you. I fear the work you are doing and the skills you have are consuming you, Will. I will not stand idly by while you hurt yourself. I am your anchor to reality, remember that.”

“Can I hug you?” Will asks. He’s almost falling asleep and what comes out of his mouth is unfiltered. And that’s alright.

Hannibal doesn’t even answer.

A moment passes and Will finds himself being held and entirely surrounded by his arms.

It’s like Hannibal can touch every inch of his upper body. He is holding his head with his hand, he presses his cheek against Will’s, he keeps him close to his chest and with his other arm he encircles his back, completely, all the way to the other hip.

Will raises both hands and puts them on Hannibal’s shoulder blades; he holds him close, but he knows he is not giving back in the same way he is receiving.

 

If there were schools where people were taught how to hug, Hannibal had been attending them all, he would have graduated with the best possible marks and could now be hired to teach there.

 

Will finds out he didn’t even know what a hug really was like until this very second, when he finds out that this one hug gave him back at least ten years of life. He also realizes that he is wrapped in the arms of the man he’s falling in love with.

 

 

 

 

Will is laying on his bed.

Which is a significant piece of information.

 

Because the last thing he remembers is Hannibal hugging him, sitting with him on the floor. Did he dream that?

 

No.

 

Yes?

 

He sits up on his bed and in front of him, sitting on one of the armchairs, Hannibal is sleeping, placed in more or less the same position Will saw him beside Abigail’s bed, a short time after he met him.

 

Had Hannibal carried him in his arms, put him to bed and tucked him in?

 

Will presses his hands against his face as if he was washing himself with ice-cold water; he surely isn’t proud of the impression he must have made, but he can’t deny that he slept very well after he got there. He feels reinvigorated just from those few hours of sleep.

                   

Will crawls to the edge of his bed and stretches his arm forward. He freezes.

 

He looks at Hannibal, thinking about how he might never get another chance of seeing him asleep on his chair, so he leans back again.

 

 

 

 

Will remembers another similar morning, not too long ago.

 

Hannibal waking him up in his motel’s room and bringing him breakfast. He didn’t even know him, back then.

 

Now, just like back then, they are facing each other, but this time they’re sitting at Will’s small kitchen table.

 

Will doesn’t usually have breakfast, most likely out of laziness, since right now he is not having any trouble eating food prepared for him, quite the contrary.

 

Hannibal opened his fridge and improvised something edible in a few minutes; Will watched him with a tense smile, somewhere between gratitude and embarrassment.

 

“Did you really find all this inside my house?” Will asks him pointing at the table Hannibal set up.

 

“Do you like it?”

 

“Do you need to ask? I have no idea how you manage to do all this…”

 

“I love to create and improvise. When you are acquainted with tastes and smells it becomes very interesting to experiment with different ingredients,” Hannibal explains, before biting into a slice of toasted bread.

 

“But you are not used to the kind of food they sell in department stores,” Will clarifies, taking in the slight sneer on Hannibal’s face when he tastes the toast.

 

“It is possible to extract some quality from common ingredients. Even though that doesn’t happen all the time,” Hannibal retorts. He puts down the slice of bread, far away from his plate.

 

Will thinks of himself without meaning to, the association comes spontaneous. He is the final result of some qualities found in an originally unrefined product. Maybe even an expired one, gone bad. A disturbed mind that sometimes does useful tricks; and recently, that doesn’t happen often, or at least those are not the kind of useful tricks that would be good for its possessor.

 

Will starts playing with his fork, moving it around inside his portion of spiced butter custard, as Hannibal had called it.

 

“Will… you are not considering whether or not to interrupt your therapy, are you?” Hannibal asks.

 

“You said we are just having conversations, not proper sessions,” Will reminds him.

 

“It would displeasure me greatly if you suspended our conversations, then.”

 

Will quickly looks at him and then gets back to the butter. He sinks his fork in it and watches the custard emerge through the prongs as if it were modeling clay.

 

“Why?” he asks to the doctor.

 

“They are good for the both of us, wouldn’t you say?”

 

“I think…” Will thinks back to how he felt while Hannibal was holding him in his arms. The ending to his sentence is immediate. “Maybe it would be better if I could spend some time on my own.”

 

Hannibal considers his words, or at least that is what it looks like to Will, because the doctor does not reply and goes on eating his breakfast. Then he gently puts down his fork on his plate, sips on his coffee and says: “This is what we will do. One last appointment, allow me one last session and if I am not convincing enough, then you will do as you please.”

 

Will sighs, he shrugs and then nods. “Ok.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translated by  
> [BETWEEN-IRONANDSILVER](http://between-ironandsilver.tumblr.com/)

“Hello Will, please come in.”

Will is tormenting his fingers, he rubs his hand, pressing his thumb in the palm of his hand as if to dig a groove there.

It’s worse than he had imagined.

It was a bad idea to accept that appointment with the doctor, even if it was supposed to be the last one; a terrible idea.

Will gets inside the room and immediately sits on his chair, as if getting that done quickly enough could somehow make the rest of it end faster.

“Give me your jacket, Will,” Hannibal offers the palm of his hand.

Oh, yeah, he hasn’t taken that off. And beside that, Will realizes he hasn’t said a word while coming in, hasn’t even said hello yet.

How rude.

But he persists and keeps his mouth shut; he stands up to shake his jacket off his shoulders, but Hannibal makes him turn around instead and takes it off for him. Will moves his arms to get away from the doctor as fast as he can.

“You asked me to hug you last night,” Hannibal states casually, while he carefully folds Will’s rumpled jacket and puts it down on the small sofa beside the door.

Will was expecting the attack, how could he not? Hannibal’s his psychiatrist.

He nods and sits down. He taps his fingers on the armrests. “That was a completely inappropriate request, Doctor,” Will admits. “I am not feeling like myself these days.”

“Was it unpleasant?” Hannibal inquires, taking his place on the chair in front of Will.

“N-no… I didn’t mean…”

“I understand. Why you are justifying yourself for needing a hug?”

Will swallows. His eyes quickly go from the ground to the man’s face, but he’s careful not to meet his eyes.

“I am not trying to justify the need,” he whispers.

“But rather the fact that you revealed it to me,” Hannibal concludes.

Will shrugs.

Hannibal leans back in his chair with a discouraged sigh.

“You are inexplicably quiet tonight, and it’s not like you. You are usually ready to discuss your opinions with me,” Hannibal chides him. “May I suggest a subject I would like to explore with you?”

“Please, Doctor,” Will smiles.

“Are you attracted to me, Will?” the question pierces through Will’s lung like an arrow and it makes him exhale his breath all at once. His jaw falls open, cartoon-like, and his mouth stays like that for an undefined amount of time that feels way too long.

That is an awful reaction to have when you want to give the impression that the question was silly and had absolutely no foundation.

“What?” Will replies with the alacrity of a sloth, but his surprise is not at all forced; he is astonished by the precision the question was posed with, though, rather than the answer to it. “How could you say that?” he shakes his head with all the affability he can muster.

_Oh, Hannibal, how could this silly thing ever come to your mind, my good friend?_

Hannibal licks his lips, pinches his trousers above his knee and raises them before he overlaps his legs.

“Do you want to justify yourself for that, too?” he asks dryly, as if he was irritated by Will’s denial.

“There’s no need to, your supposition is bullshit,” Will knows that swearing can be easily read as a defense mechanism against an uncomfortable truth.

Too late.

Will knows it’s too late for many things.

“I can hear in your words how unaffected you are by this,” Hannibal points out.

“Listen,” Will stops him with a wave of his hand, “don’t you think it’s quite an arrogant statement? What makes you so sure that I am attracted to you, me asking for a hug? Or are you just thinking that you obviously must entice that sort of interest in everyone around you? And you say it with that smug face of yours… Maybe, if you suggest this as a topic of conversation tonight, with your friends, you might solve together a few of my conduct disorders, but…”

Will stands up wanting to go on with his rant and walk around the desk as he usually does when they discuss cases, but Hannibal intervenes.

“You avoid me when I touch you,” he begins, “Or even when I only get close to you, except for the instances when you are the one asking to be held, of course,” the doctor had never sounded as sarcastic as tonight. His head is inclined to the side and he looks pensive.

Will leaves his hand on the armchair, and stands behind it as if it could shield him from that conversation.

“You’re distracted, excited, nervous,” the doctor goes on, “You never look into my eyes…”

“I don’t look anyone in the eyes, don’t you remember?” Will snorts and laughs nervously.

“Let me check if your pupils are dilated, then,” the doctor suggests.

“Oh, come on…” Will walks quickly towards the door.

“Will I ever see you again?” Hannibal asks him without standing up or even slightly moving.

Will is facing the man, his hand on the doorknob, but it starts sliding down and falls down to hang uselessly at his side.

Can he bear the thought of not being able to see Hannibal anymore?

Because Hannibal has just thrown out a lure, and if Will leaves now, running away, he will avoid getting caught, and maybe he won’t ever find a good excuse to see him again; but if he stays, he might just never be able to free himself again.

How can he go on spending time with Hannibal with this elephant in the room? And how can he give up on him, when he knows for sure that it won’t be long before he feels the need to see him again?

Will closes his eyes and takes a breath, deep and slow.

“If my pupils look normal to you, will you let this drop?” He says the first thing that comes to his mind so that he won’t have to leave this room without having solved the situation.

But then again, even if Hannibal lets his accusations drop… Will knows he is attracted to him, how will he be able to go on without letting it show, sooner or later?

Damn it.

Hannibal stands up, walks towards him and stops right in front of him.

Will is now trapped against the door, he has no more room to move backwards.

“Why are you having this kind of response?” Hannibal insists, his voice way too low.

“You’re invading my personal space… I… I don’t like it.”

“Nonetheless, this is not pure irritation,” he goes on, treating Will like he is the subject matter of his personal and accurate research, and Hannibal is merely drawing the necessary conclusions.

“Would you please meet my eyes, Will?” he asks him, lightly touching Will’s cheek with his index finger.

Will moves his eyes, but doesn’t turn his head. Hannibal is smiling at him, his lips stretched and his the corners of his eyes wrinkled.

It’s an honest smile. Will can feel that and is not able to prevent himself from smiling back without even realizing.

It’s only when Hannibal says: “Much better,” that he becomes serious again.

“Your pupils are not dilated at all, I must have been wrong,” Hannibal states with a nod. “I apologise.”

Will needs to leave. He came to the point of not being able to stand Hannibal’s intoxicating presence anymore. He will go home and think about his voice, his hands, his scent… but right now he just wants to disappear.

“Please, sit down, the hour is not over yet and you still haven’t given me the chance to convince you to go on with your therapy,” Hannibal seems to be sensing Will’s desire to leave.

Hannibal steps back, giving Will the chance of putting some space between the two of them.

“How is the Ripper’s investigation going?” Hannibal probes. The atmosphere is suddenly rarefied and Will feels less oppressed. He is able to answer that question.

Hannibal has been way more interested in the Ripper since they joked about the possibility of him being the cannibal. Will thinks that Hannibal wants to get back to that joke between them, to soften the dramatic nature of their situation, to put him at ease, and he is grateful of that.

“Jack is asking me to draw connections between the Ripper and murders from these last months, that’s how the investigation is going,” Will tells him.

“And you are still losing your sleep over those connections?”

“No, I lose no sleep over that, there are no connections. None of those victims had anything to do with the Ripper. Jack is so obsessed by that killer, by what he did to Miriam Lass, that he is forcing non-existing links.”

“And you feel used. You are there to help and do what you can do best, but what is the purpose of it if they don’t listen?” Hannibal summarizes what Will’s meetings with Jack recently became.

“It doesn’t matter. The evidence speaks for itself. Even if Jack isn’t listening to me, he still has to face the true murderer. Just like this last case. It’s not the Ripper, no matter how much Jack wants it to be him. It’s not him,” Will has already talked with Hannibal about the case they have been working on lately, but just vaguely.

“How do you know it’s not him?” Hannibal immediately asks.

“I know his modus operandi, I know everything about him. When he comes back… I will know it’s him.”

Hannibal smiles; the look on his face is so piercing that the remaining of Will’s sentence comes out as a whisper. “Because I know he will be back…”

Will can at least say he doesn’t feel any need to look away, when he is talking about this. Hannibal must know it, that is why they always get back to talking about work.

“How can you be so sure?”

“It’s been a while since he could benefit from the trophies his victims offer. A cannibal that hasn’t eaten in too long is a sad cannibal.”

Hannibal nods.

“Are you still set on suspending our sessions, Will?” Hannibal questions.

Will turns to look outside the window, he gets lost in the grey sky. He feels like, seen from that window, the sky has never looked blue. How could he give up on those idyllic moments? When everything stops and he can talk to someone who gets him and doesn’t make him feel like an immoral being because of who he is?

How could he give up on a mind so synchronized with his own that they can resonate in unison?

How could he give Hannibal up?

“I will come here every once in a while to have a chat, if that is fine with you, doctor,” Will replies, “but no regular appointment. Is that acceptable?”

“More than acceptable.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translated by  
> [BETWEEN-IRONANDSILVER](http://between-ironandsilver.tumblr.com/)

Two evenings after that, Will agrees to join Hannibal in collecting some folders full of documents. Heavy folders, Hannibal claims, that is why Will’s help would be appreciated.

Will does not refuse simply because he feels like he owes Hannibal much more than that, even though just the idea of driving in the same car is making him nervous.

Hannibal doesn’t want him to take his own car, he drives all the way to Will’s house to pick him up. That is absolutely normal, but in Will’s state of mind it feels like something out of a courtship.

If Hannibal can guess how Will feels about him, is he doing this on purpose?

That would be cruel.

Will decides that Hannibal must have set aside that idea, after he looked into his eyes during their last meeting. And Will wonders how that is even possible. He shakes his head, imposing to himself to stop with all the pondering.

“Isn’t the music to your liking?” Hannibal asks, reaching for the stereo with an arm.

“No!” Will suddenly jerks out of his reverie and grabs his hand.

He immediately lets go.

“No, this is fine. I was just lost in thought, the music has nothing to do with that.”

He really was lost, he had even forgotten he was already inside Hannibal’s car.

“Were you drawing unpleasant connections in your mind?” the doctor asks him, “Every time we drove together in the same car, we were driving to a crime scene. We need to replace those with positive associations.”

Will shrugs, not really getting much of what the doctor is saying.

Hannibal stops the car outside a veterinary clinic.

“Do you have papers to collect here?” Will asks. His voice sounds more incredulous than how he actually feels.

“I might have lied about some aspects of our little trip,” the doctor confesses, but without a single grain of guilt.

“What do you mean? What have you lied about?”

“Almost everything,” comes the doctor’s reply. “Will you still follow me?” Hannibal immediately goes on, leaning his head back against the seat and looking at Will without turning his head.

“I am not here with my own car, am I? That makes it difficult for me to leave,” Will replies opening the door and acting annoyed. He is not, though, it’s just that being inside that unmoving car, with Hannibal looking at him like that… no.

They both get out and Will follows the doctor to the building.

The gate opens, despite the clinic being already closed. All it takes is Hannibal saying his name into the intercom.

Will silently follows him without having any idea what the doctor is plotting; a secret meeting with a colleague? But this clinic seems a bit excessive.

A consultation on Will’s mental health? But then again… what kind of meeting place is that?

When the door at the end of the hallway opens, Will finds himself submersed by a tsunami of puppies.

The swarm of Golden Retrievers howls and wails happily, running towards them, and they start gnawing on Will’s shoes, trying to tear the laces, biting on his ankles, they get up on wobbly legs to have him pet them.

Will does not react for a few seconds; because he was ready for anything but this, because he is astonished and this might as well be his own private paradise on Earth.

He must look like a child in a candy store, because Hannibal looks at him and says: “I was right when I thought you might enjoy this.”

Will spreads his arms. “You brought me here… so I can play with pups?”

Hannibal’s lip bows downward and he shrugs. “You are not the type of man who can relax and stop thinking while watching a movie or a basketball match…”

“Or you would have taken me to the cinema or to see a match somewhere?” Will asks with a smile.

“I can’t really say which one would have been worse,” the doctors tells him, observing as one of the dogs at his feet bites and pulls a shoelace, shaking its small head from side to side.

“That is why you are dressed that badly tonight,” Will teases.

Hannibal raises his eyebrows. Then nods. “To be honest, this is the one suit that lost against all others. It will be thrown away tomorrow.”

Will’s only response to that is sitting down on the floor, not at all worried about his clothes. He is not going to throw them away anyway, no matter what the puppies could do.

“Come on, Doctor,” Will gestures towards him with his hand, “You need to relax, too.”

“I usually draw,” Hannibal states. Nonetheless, to Will’s extreme surprise, the man sits down beside him, showing off an incredible fluidity of movement that Will would have never thought to be possible in those clothes.

Will finds him more captivating in that Spartan and not really elegant clothing, and his heart fills up with warmth.“Thanks, Hannibal” he looks away to pick up a pup and hold it in his arms. “This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“With extreme arrogance I can claim to know you… a little.”

Will doesn’t see any arrogance in claiming that, just like he doesn’t think the doctor was arrogant in presuming that Will may be interested in him. No, that is not arrogance, unfortunately, that is just a genuine ability to read Will.

It scares him and at the same time makes his heart swell up with warmth. Of course Will is so drawn to this man, he understands him and takes care of him, can Will say that of anybody else?

He’s a bit moved by this whole situation created between them and he also feels like he is trapped in the sort of feeling that can only grow stronger and stronger, if Hannibal keeps acting like that.

Will hugs the puppy in his arms, even though the others are all asking for the same attention. He’s lost in thought again and he leans down to lightly kiss the dog’s head.

He can feel that he is being observed, so he turns around.

Hannibal’s lips are stretched into a beautiful smile, that looks even sweeter because of his half closed eyes. Will has never seen such a soft expression on his face before now; or maybe it is more correct to say that Will’s idea of Hannibal does not include that kind of emotion. Not even Will’s imagination has ever succeeded in picturing all the different shades of the man’s expressions.

Will blushes at the fleeting thought that runs through his mind then: he would like to see the remaining part of Hannibal’s inventory of expressions.

“Smells good,” Will whispers to explain what Hannibal has just witnessed. He lifts the dog up in the air to point out what he was talking about.

Hannibal takes up a tiny female wagging her tail that was standing close to his knee, he gets close until she’s just under his nose and he closes his eyes, inhaling as if he was smelling a flower.

Will is prepared to an objection to his absurd statement. Hannibal just kisses the pup instead, he carefully puts her back on the floor and says: “I agree.”

This is such a beautiful side of him.

Hannibal has been claiming to be his friend for a while, but it was difficult for Will to feel the same because of the lack of moments like this one, between the two of them. Sharing experiences outside working or therapy hours is not what they usually do.

And it’s such a shame, really, because Will is loving each second of it. Yet, friendship between them, for him, is not in the picture at all; he likes Hannibal, he really does, but in the kind of way that, in his mind, has very little to do with friendly affection.

They sit there for an hour, talking and petting the dogs, smiling at each other and exchanging the sort of information they never talked about before; where did you live as a boy, what’s your mother’s name, what kind of movies do you like.

Will knows very little about Hannibal, because during their conversations Will is always the one talking, logically, since those are his therapy sessions. But Will is interested and he would like to have all the time he needs to make small talk, without any serious criminal profile to work on, without crime scenes to analyze or parts of his mind to understand.

“Thank you again,” Will repeats on their way back. “It’s nice to… be treated like a child, sometimes, in a good sense I mean,” when he gets to the end of the sentence he is not sure he made himself clear, but it doesn’t matter.

Hannibal gives him a brief look and smiles.

“You are one of the few people that can still surprise me,” Will goes on. He wants to say the truth, that he is the only one that can surprise him, but he lets it go.

“The same applies to you,” the doctor replies, “I am glad we are both a source of surprises for the other.”

Will frowns. “What is surprising about me?” he asks.

“A man capable of enduring his mind being violated by the worst horrors and still able to find comfort in a litter of puppies? That is a surprise…”

Will shrugs, laughing. “And you did all this to provide me with comfort. That must have been a weird thing to ask to the people working there.”

“I warned the head doctor of the clinic that he may find out that a few dogs are missing after you were there,” he teases.

“A-ah, no,” Will shakes his head, “There will never be a pup in my life. I take care of dogs in need, the ones no one wants to take in. There are always some kind-hearted people looking for a puppy, a lot fewer looking for a stray.”

“Who is taking care of you, Will?” Hannibal asks him, tearing Will away from the more superficial train of thought he was following.

“I… I’m a grown up,” Will clears his throat, embarrassed. “I can look after myself.”

“I am sure of it,” Hannibal retorts, “But that is not what I meant.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation by  
> [BETWEEN-IRONANDSILVER](http://between-ironandsilver.tumblr.com/)

The following week is one of the worst nightmares Will has ever had.

Literally.

His sleepless nights finally end, and they turn into few sleeping hours, studded with horrible dreams, all connected to the Ripper investigations that are finally taking the first significant turn after months of mere hypothesis.

The killer stroke again, just as Will expected. It’s like he heard him and finally gave him some crime scenes to work on and some victims he could gather valuable pieces of information from.

But nothing too obvious, that is what is drivingWill crazy.

After all the hypothesis he made with Hannibal, about how the killer is using the organs he takes from his victims as trophies, the idea of liver, heart and lungs being removed is even more revolting.

Will’s headaches last longer and longer until they are filling most of his days. He takes some pills, he studies some case files, he takes some pills, he goes to the laboratory, he takes some more pills, and he has nightmares.

He misses Hannibal, but doesn’t want to see him in his current condition and doesn’t reach out to him. Hannibal does not contact him either, and Will guesses he has something better to do.

Another week goes by and night time becomes the time of day Will fears the most.

During the last three days he has fallen asleep just to wake up again on his roof, or inside his car in front of the steering wheel, with his windscreen wipers on, in the middle of the woods.

In his bathroom, standing in front of the mirror, his face wrecked and his eyes underlined by dark rings, he starts crying and prays that it could all be over soon, because his lack of control on himself is unacceptable.

It is when he realizes that he is standing in Jack’s office without even knowing how he got there that he gets really terrified.

That same night, he is at home, playing with his phone, fidgeting with his hands, he lights up the screen, lets it darken again, puts it back down.

He does the same exact thing he did in Jack’s office: he acts like this is no big deal and does not call Hannibal. He knows that he is having a dinner party tonight and doesn’t want to bother.

 

 

Will’s eyelids flutter open; he is standing barefoot on the grass. He’s dirty with mud and he is soaking wet. His hair, his t-shirt, his legs… but they are not drenched in sweat as usual, and he’s not in bed.

He looks up; he is standing under the rain but he doesn’t know… he doesn’t know where he is. He doesn’t know anything.

His voice whispers: “Help.”

He shivers and can’t stop, he is scared to death and also cold, frozen to the bone.

A blurred shadow is running to him.

Will can’t take it anymore; the shadow has almost reached him when he falls to his knees and lets himself go.

“Will… Will, look at me.”

Will hears that voice, he knows whom it belongs to, but can’t bring himself to open his eyes.

Warmth is seeping into him from hands resting on his cheek and forehead.

Will fights against his incredibly heavy lids to open his eyes and puts the shadow into focus. “Ha-Han-nibal,” he invokes his name with chattering teeth.

They are in the bathroom on the ground floor, Will can tell from the red carpet under the sink that he is drowning in mud. The water is running in the shower, its sound blending in with the noise of the pouring rain.

“Take off your clothes and step under the hot water, Will, you are freezing,” Hannibal encourages him.

Will’s hands are shaking, almost convulsing. His neck is not supporting his head, leaving it hanging against his chest. He is dirty with mud, grass and blood from the waist down. He went out in nothing but a pair of boxers and a t-shirt sometime after he went to bed.

Will shakes his head, desperate. “I can’t… I… I can’t d-do it,” he stutters, barely able to complete the sentence.

“Come here,” Hannibal pulls him closer. His hand on Will’s elbow is the only reminder that he still has that limb, otherwise it’s all frozen into insensitivity.

Hannibal takes off his t-shirt, careful not to hurt him; Will is so slow in helping with his own movements that Hannibal has to put his hand under the cloth and stretch it so he can set Will’s arms free one at a time.

Without his t-shirt, Will is possibly even colder. His shivering becomes spasmic and paralyses him.

Hannibal’s hands rest on his hips, his fingers travel under the elastic band of his boxers and push them down, letting them fall down his legs. Hannibal puts a hand on his shoulder and another one on his hip and helps him stepping out of his boxers and then into the shower, pushing him under the spray.

Will presses his hands against the wall and lets the water run down his whole body in a warm and wonderful caress that slowly warms him up.

The vapour and intimate atmosphere of the shower cheer him up a bit, soon enough the cold that seemed to rule over the entirety of his body ebbs down and the shivering mitigates, too.

Hannibal is standing beside him, observing.

Will is not as embarrassed because of his nudity than he is of the doctor having to take care of him, and because he forced himself inside his home, even though unconsciously, and because he interru…

“Y-you… you had guests over. Oh god, you were throwing a dinner party tonight…” Will stammers under the water. He runs his hand through his hair and pulls it back. “I’m sorry.”

“Will… if you think entertaining a few guests is more important to me than your wellbeing, I would be inclined to say that our views on our friendship are quite divergent.”

 _Yes, I really think they are_ , Will thinks, but he is referring to something else entirely.

“There is no reason for you to be worried, anyway, the party was already over. Go on and wash yourself, you will feel better,” Hannibal gives him a small bottle of soap and a sponge.

Will tries to take them both in his hands, but his fingers won’t work, and the bottle falls down to the floor. “Shit.”

Hannibal bends down to get it and he opens it, pouring some of the content on the sponge and holding it under the water, then he puts the bottle down. “Turn around,” he instructs Will.

It takes Will a very long time to process the request, and his eyes open wide when Hannibal puts both hands on his shoulders and turns him around.

The soft back and forth of the sponge and the amazing scent spreading in the air around him lead Will into some sort of idyllic trance. If he compares this situation to the one he was in just ten minutes before, he feels like he has now entered heaven.

It feels as if Hannibal were actually touching him, caressing him, it is not hard for Will to imagine he is. He was able to imagine much more than that,despite having much less to work with, lately.

He puts his hands back on the wall in front of him, unable to stand straight on unstable legs, because everything is spinning and he feels like he is probably standing there swaying like an idiot.

Hannibal cleans him with vertical movements, starting from his neck and sliding all the way down his back, he climbs up again passing the sponge on his hips, then down his arms. He is so delicate that Will feels like he is being stroked more than cleaned. And he lets Hannibal lather him up. Will himself is struggling to believe how easily he is accepting his attentions.

He is tired, he is scared and confused, but it would be so easy to stop Hannibal from doing what he is doing.

Will doesn’t want to. The right ethical thing to do can go to hell right now. He feels good, this is the first time in two weeks that he is glad to be alive.

And if the doctor himself is comfortable doing this, then it must be an ordinary thing to do. Maybe it’s common for doctors to personally wash their patients. Couldn’t it be?

It could.

Nothing weird there.

And Hannibal always was more than ready to provide physical contact, so much so that it used to upset Will.

His eyes are closed now, water is pouring down his body, sticking his hair to his ears and dulling every other sound except for its roar, and Will is enjoying the remaining pleasurable moments he has; there is not much of his upper body left for the doctor to soap.

His eyes suddenly open again and he ends up staring at the floor of the shower when he feels the sponge caressing the curve of his buttocks, the movement anything but hasty or indifferent.

Oh no, Hannibal is taking his sweet time, as if all mud and dirt on Earth were now hiding there and had to be carefully removed.

Will bites on his lower lip and tells himself that he is reading too much into this, that there’s nothing mischievous there. Nonetheless, his hands are threatening to close into fists against the white tiles, forming claws, his knuckles turning as white as icebergs.

Will doesn’t know if it would be wise to tell Hannibal to stop, now, he doesn’t know if he got to the point when he should really start being rational, if he weren’t this awfully ecstatic about the situation. He would have expected these two weeks to end in any possible way, except for this sudden glimpse of heaven.

Again, he does not want Hannibal to stop.

And the man kneels down to cleanse his legs; in order to keep his balance, he grabs Will’s thigh just under his butt with the hand that isn’t holding the sponge.

Will turns his head to the side and bites on his own arm. Who knows if Hannibal will ignore his not obvious but still quite clear sexual awakening, now concentrating on the front of his legs.

Whether Hannibal notices how much Will is enjoying this, he can’t tell. Hannibal gets up again and runs the sponge on Will’s chest, from his neck to his stomach, with the same preciseness he used on the rest of his body. He does it once, twice, then three times.

Will thinks that water must have now drenched the other man from his head to his toes, every inch of that beautiful suit, one of many, that Will got a glimpse of a short time before, out in the cold. He turns his head to look and verify his thought and he finds Hannibal’s face a few inches from his own. He opens his mouth to speak, but words fail him.

Through Hannibal’s wet shirt, the body he seems so proud of is not so hard to imagine. The doctor looks unconcerned with the unplanned shower he found himself taking because of Will: he runs a hand through his hair, squeezing it between his fingers, he closes his mouth and water runs his chin in a rivulet Will is unable to tear his eyes away from.

If he weren’t convinced that the doctor is not at all attracted to him, Will could almost think that his actions are all calculated to have Will focused on specific areas of his body.

Will can see himself tearing the buttons of his too-tight shirt and touching the skin under it just like Hannibal touched him. His breath is coming out in pants, like it always does after his vivid fantasies.

Hannibal turns off the water. With one last tender gesture, he squeezes Will’s hair. He gets the big towel hanging from the wall beside the shower and wraps Will in it. He keeps rubbing Will while he pushes him out of the shower and on a clean carpet, where he can dry off.

Will finds out right then something new and very relevant about Hannibal: he has no idea what embarrassment means. And, maybe without meaning to, he makes part of Will’s fantasy come true.

Hannibal takes off every single garment with extreme ease. He leaves everything on the edge of the sink and then takes out another towel from the dresser. He dabs his face, his shoulders, his legs…

Will wouldn’t know where to look, but Hannibal makes it easier on him, facing away from him for most of the time. Will can linger with his eyes on any part of his body he can see from there and he is stunned by the spontaneous response in his body. What he is feeling right now goes beyond simple arousal; it’s not about what is standing in front of him, that is, a male body that shouldn’t inspire much of a reaction in him, even though he must admit it is a quite handsome one, but it’s the intimacy between them that makes Will’s heart skip a beat; the feeling of a new world being created just for the two of them, for their peculiarities and their ability to understand each other.

Hannibal is offering what he took from Will while he was under the shower; it’s another way to restore a balance in their relationship. _I am standing in front of you completely naked and I have no problem with that._

Nudity is maybe the last thing they were yet to show each other, anyway.

Will doesn’t see anything erotic in that; it’s easier to avoid disappointments if he doesn’t have any expectations, he learned that many years ago.

Half an hour later, he is sitting on Hannibal’s couch, in front of the fireplace, wearing one of Hannibal’s sweaters and comfortable loose pants. If the towel hadn’t been enough, even though it strongly smelled like Hannibal, now he can get a sniff of him whenever he buries his nose in the soft red cloth.

He is sipping on a cup of warm, fruit flavored milk, weird but not unpleasant; the doctor denied him any alcoholic beverage. Will is annoyed and at the same time satisfied with that new attention. Being treated like a child is resulting in a weird contrast of love and hate, he can’t distinguish those feelings anymore, and it’s something only Hannibal makes him feel.

The man dried his hair with his own hair-dryer, after he was done with washing him, and Will stood there with his eyes closed, enjoying Hannibal’s fingers combing and ruffling his hair. Just like a child would do.

The doctor sits down next to him. “Are you still feeling cold? Would you like a blanket?” he asks him.

Will shakes his head without saying anything. He takes another sip of his milk.

“I will not let you go back home in your condition, Will, don’t waste any time asking,” his patronizing tone is now exaggerated like never before. “You will sleep here, and we will decide what to do tomorrow.”

“You’re treating me like Abigail,” Will mumbles without looking at him.

“I deeply care about both of you. And by some means, I feel responsible in both cases,” Will is not happy with that last sentence, he’s actually rather perplexed, but he decides to focus on the first half of it, the one he likes better.

“Will, you look like you have just engaged in an exhausting fight against a storm. And like you haven’t eaten anything for days, too,” Hannibal goes on.

As soon as those last words come out of his mouth, Will suddenly realizes he is starving. He hasn’t touched real food in days, except for his morning and afternoon coffee and some cookies and chips from the vending machine at the Academy.

“Would you like to eat, now?” Hannibal is suddenly offering the one thing Will actually wants; maybe not eating properly is what caused all his fatigue, and deep down, Will knows that he can find only one explanation to the lack of appetite: the same one that explains why he is finally hungry again.

And he is actually quite hungry. He would eat anything.

Will nods energetically and follows Hannibal to the kitchen.

The doctor improvises, setting up the table on the kitchen counter, and the result looks incredibly intimate. Will loves Hannibal’s house, but the kitchen is the one room where Hannibal belongs, more than anywhere else, and being there with him feels like home.

As soon as Hannibal places food in front of him, Will can’t focus on anything else but the tasty meat on his plate and the delicious smell of sauce. Without minding his manners, he starts using his fork to fill his mouth with vegetables and swallows them, as voracious as a wild cat would do with its prey.

Hannibal stops the hand that is holding the fork. “Will, stop… you will end up feeling sick if you go on like this.”

It must be _‘No Will, don’t do that’_ Night, the doctor is constantly reprimanding him about something.

Will swallows with some difficulty. “I’m starving,” he tries to justify in a whining tone.

Hannibal forces his fingers open so that he can take the fork away from him.

“No!” Will complains.

“Don’t worry, Will, I am not going to let you starve. I am just making sure that you will not spend the night throwing up everything you ingurgitate now.”

Hannibal sits down beside him, cuts a piece of meat, pierces through it with the fork and holds it up close to Will’s face.

Will looks at the food with uncertainty in his eyes.

“If this bothers you, I will do nothing more than preparing adequate mouthfuls and then I will let you have the fork,” Hannibal says.

Will opens his mouth and lets Hannibal feed him. As soon as the doctor verifies that Will doesn’t mind, he starts preparing one bit of meat after the other.

“What should I blame your recent lack of appetite on, Will?” Hannibal asks, giving Will some time to chew and swallow.

“The Ripper, I guess,” he tells Hannibal.

“Oh, I am sorry.”

“You say that like you’re actually the Ripper,” Will teases, aware of their usual joke about Hannibal being a serial killer.

Hannibal smiles while he feeds him another bite.

“I have heard… or should I say, I have read about the murders. Why didn’t you come here to discuss them with me? I thought we had an agreement about this…”

Will tries to buy some time swallowing. He takes a sip of water. Then plays with the handkerchief to his right.

“I know… I’m sorry. I should have called, but I was too…”

“Busy fighting your demons? Or Jack Crawford and his prodding? Will, do you think I can’t tell how consuming this job is for you? Even though Jack is aware of that, he keeps asking for more, it’s not fair.”

The plate is now empty and Will is full. Physically, he hadn’t felt this good in a long time.

 

Mentally, there is still a lot to work on.

 

"What happened to me tonight... do you think it's just because of stress?" Will's question sounds worried.

 

"It is surely a consequence of stress. But I promise you, Will, it will be fine from now on. Trust me."

 

Will has no idea why he trusts those words. How could Hannibal know how he will feel after that night? Still, Will believes him.

 

Hannibal stands up and puts his arms around Will, just like that, without saying another word. He holds him and runs his hands up and down on his back comfortingly. Will is unable to imagine how much he really needs that warmth, until he responds to the tenderness with just the same intensity. He closes his eyes and inhales the same scent he had smelled on the towel he was wrapped in just a couple of hours ago, when he felt like he was about to die. The same scent he can smell on the clothes he is wearing.

 

Hannibal's neck is just there, so close to his own lips, and it's so easy to kiss him there once, then twice. Another kiss, this time just under Hannibal's earlobe, and another one on his jaw, that Will feels contracting in response.

 

"Will..."

 

Hannibal calls his name. Will opens his eyes and curses himself for his stupidity a thousand times.

 

"You are tired, go to sleep."

 

Hannibal settles that and any other possible matter with a few simple words.

 

Will was lost in the heat of the moment, but he knows the doctor is trying to make his reckless gesture look like something he will not be embarrassed of next time he looks at him.

 

Will doesn't need anything more than that to be assured that the doctor is not interested in him that way...

 

"Yes, alright..." Will clears his throat and walks to his bedroom, head hanging low. He doesn't turn to look back, doesn't offer to help the doctor with cleaning the kitchen. He only wants to disappear.

 

 

 

Will's eyes open wide. His arms are stretched out on the mattress, his fingers tangled in the sheet. His legs are open and the blanket is twisted around his feet.

 

His friend, the nightmare stag, came to visit him in his dreams, but this time it looked more like a man and even had a face. A weird, scary, but familiar face.

 

Will is not afraid, he is fascinated.

 

And it couldn't be otherwise, because he has just woken up after one of the most satisfying erotic dreams he has ever experienced; the demon is quite generous with his mouth and tongue, and Will's imagination created them both to be as capable as it could possibly come up with.

 

Will hopes he hasn't expressed out loud how much he enjoyed the dream. He raises his head and is surprised by the fact that, even though he has no doubts that he just had an orgasm, there is no trace of it.

 

He rests his head on the pillow again, the room Hannibal gave him for the night is still partially dark, but the door left slightly open lets in some light from the hallway. Will’s stomach twists painfully when he thinks that he will have to face Hannibal in the morning; he has no idea what to say.

 

He’s right, Hannibal really is treating him like another Abigail: one more child to educate and look after.

 

 

 

 

Waking up feels just as good as it did the morning after Hannibal held him, when he slept at his place.

 

Will gets out of bed and walks barefoot out of the room and down the hallway. Hearing the noises that are coming from the kitchen and smelling breakfast around him is enough to create an intimate atmosphere even though the house is incredibly big and dispersive.

 

He stops to look at some of the paintings on the walls, the small dresser in the corner, the long carpet that covers the wooden floor almost entirely. When he enters the kitchen, he is still looking around, as if he were seeing this house for the first time, as if waking up there had been enough to show him a new face of this place that he has already seen dozens of times.

 

“Good morning, Will,” Hannibal greets him cheerfully. He is as impeccable as usual, his hair is pulled back and exposes his relaxed and well-rested face, and he is wearing a simple white shirt that somehow achieves the same result a whole suit would, and a black apron tied to his waist. A knife passes from one hand to the other one as he points to the armchair in the corner. “Sit down while I finish preparing.”

 

Will sits down mechanically, then turns to the other man with a curious look on his face. “You have an armchair… in your kitchen?”

 

“I do,” the doctor smiles.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because if I have anyone over, I don’t want my guest to be forced to stand there, waiting for me to be done preparing our meal.”

 

“What if you have many guests over?”

 

“Then they can entertain themselves in the living room.”

 

Will nods like it all makes perfectly sense. “Do you often invite just one guest that ends up sitting here, looking at you while you cook?”

 

He couldn’t have come up with a worse question, but at this point, he has given up on his attempt to keep the pathetic things he does to a minimum, in front of his psychiatrist.

 

It annoys him that Hannibal spends time with other people.

 

Pathetic.

 

It annoys him that someone else could sit where he is sitting right now and enjoy the sight of him just like Will is doing now.

 

Pathetic.

 

And it’s even more pathetic that he can’t keep his irritation for himself.

 

“My dinner parties usually involve a rather wide audience, waiters and sous-chefs. Yesterday night was an example.”

 

Will shuts his eyes, embarrassed. “Yeah, sorry about that. Again.”

 

“No need to be sorry. The party didn’t really matter, as I told you. I was merely answering your question, now,” he slices one last tomato in four parts, then lets them fall into the hot pan. “Nothing could make me happier than seeing you healthier and well-rested. And since you seemed pretty hungry last night, I imagined you would appreciate a quick breakfast.”

 

Will can feel himself blush at the allusion. He should really say something, but he has never felt this embarrassed in his life.

 

“Hannibal… about last night…” he looks down and clears his throat. “Well… I don’t know where to start to apologise for… that.”

 

“For what?” Hannibal immediately asks back, and Will feels like dying.

 

“Hannibal…” Will whispers, forcing a smile, “Now you’re being cruel. Even though I do deserve it…”

 

“You are always presuming, rather arrogantly, and your assumptions are based on a very limited amount of facts. My question could arise from a genuine ignorance on what you are referring to, and I am not consecrated to torturing you, Will.”

 

Will falls into silence while the man sternly fills up two identical plates with colorful treats. He gets up from the armchair and stands in front of Hannibal, his hands buried deep in his pockets and his shoulders bent forward. “Hannibal, don’t… You’re right. Well, I was talking about me trying to kiss you. Don’t you remember that?”

 

Hannibal’s head is bent over their dishes, he looks at Will moving only his eyes, his serious expression turning into some sort of amused frown. “Oh, that,” he tells him, offering one of the plates.

 

Will takes it with both hands.

 

“Were you just trying to kiss me? I thought you had succeeded.”

 

Will keeps quiet, knowing that anything he could say now would only make him more uncomfortable.

 

“So, there was supposed to be more? Mh…” Hannibal considers, bending his head to the side as if he had a sudden realization. “I was not aware of that.”

 

“Ok… well…” Will interrupts him, “Thank you for not being consecrated to torturing me, Doctor.”

 

They both make their way to the living room.

 

“Since you’re not attracted to me,” Will hears the other man mutter behind him, “I didn’t think that was worth mentioning.”

 

The doctor put him at ease, and Will is grateful for that, but that last sentence is tickling his brain.

 

Is this payback? The doctor denied him a kiss because Will did not acknowledge his attraction to him, that day?

 

Will shakes his head, imposing his imagination to stop wandering.

 

No, no. He really can’t allow himself to fuck up again around Hannibal.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation by  
> [BETWEEN-IRONANDSILVER](http://between-ironandsilver.tumblr.com/)

A blonde girl stops him in front of the office.

Will is not aware that she’s talking to him until she repeats her question.

“Is Doctor Lecter married?”

Will looks at her astonished and then slowly shakes his head. “No,” he answers.

He would rather not reply, maybe just tell her to mind her own business, since that doesn’t concern his patients.

And there are about two hundred reasons why she could be asking something like that, but Will’s mind is completely focused on one single thought and he’s just jealous, jealous and jealous.

He curses himself for accepting to see Hannibal that afternoon, for agreeing on doing something that he had promised himself he would be doing less and less often.

Damn it.

He walks away looking back a few times, following the woman with his eyes as she opens the door and disappears inside.

Who is she? A patient or something else?

Why did she ask Will something like that, instead of directly talking to the doctor about it?

If it is not anything malicious, then she could as well make that same question to him during their appointment…

Damn it.

 

 

Three endless days.

Three.

Before he talks to Hannibal again.

And when Hannibal’s name appears on his phone’s screen, Will puts a hand on his face.

“Hello,” he tries to say with the best neutral tone he is capable of.

“Will… hello. You are alright, then.”

 _I am just peachy_ , Will thinks.

“How… should I be doing?” he asks, uncertainty seeping into his voice with the fear of having his expressions and inner turmoil easily read by Hannibal, even though this is just a phone call.

“If I don’t call you first, you seem to be fine with letting several days go by without talking to me. Is our friendship completely one-sided?”

Why is the doctor always capable of making him feel guilty, even though Will felt like he was the one that had been offended, just a few seconds ago?

“I have been busy with work… I would have called you,because…”

Why would he call him? He had no clue. What reason did he have to call Hannibal?

Maybe all those things he couldn’t say to the other man, or maybe the usual stupid reasons to call someone you like, asking how they are doing, or what they are doing, or what they are eating or who was the young woman outside your office three days ago?

“May I pick you up tonight? Take you out for dinner?”

“What?”

Oh god, he wasn’t able to keep himself from saying that, even though he didn’t mean to. Will perfectly understood Hannibal’s offer, the word that escaped him was just pure surprise.

Hannibal repeats his invitation.

“O-ok,” Will mumbles, unsure, “Uhm… you mean out, in a restaurant? Not your place?”

“I would rather focus my attention on you alone, instead of having to take care of dinner, too,” Hannibal explains, “Is it alright with you?”

“Of course.”

Will hangs up and sighs. He tries to ignore the word _date_ flashing here and there inside his mind, written in capital letters. It’s just dinner with a friend.

Will opens the door, casting a sideway look to the clock on the bookshelf.

Who could it be now?

“Hannibal…” he whispers slowly opening the door.

Buster slides his head in through the small opening and runs outside, the whole pack following his lead, howling and wagging tails and forcing Hannibal to take a step to the side as if he had to avoid clashing with a train.

“What are you doing here this early?” Will asks him, immediately biting the inside of his cheek as a punishment for his harsh ways and the rudeness he just can’t seem to avoid, no matter how hard he tries.

“I hope you’ll forgive me,” Hannibal replies, ignoring or not even noticing his irritability, as he usually does, “But I thought I could bring you something before going out. If you don’t mind. It’s in the car.”

Will is surprised. “What could you have in your car that I would find offensive?”

Hannibal joins his hands behind his back and stiffly straightens his back. He slowly licks his lips. Will recognizes in his actions a bit of insecurity on how to proceed.

“Follow me,” the man finally says, turning towards his car.

Inside the truck of his Bentley, wrapped in transparent plastic, is a grey suit, looking very similar to Hannibal’s usual ones, even though Will is not qualified enough to say for sure if it really was made by the same hand.

A box sitting beside it suggests a pair of matching shoes.

“I am not trying to criticize your clothing, and you should not feel obliged to wear it. It’s just… a gift for you,” Hannibal whispers, filling in the silence that fell between them while Will was looking over the content of the trunk.

Will is about to ask him why he brought it there right now, if he didn’t want Will to wear it for dinner? He catches himself before speaking though, because he knows his question could be misunderstood.

He is not feeling offended. It feels more like being a young boy who still needs help in choosing clothes. Hannibal’s son, yet another time.

And Will finds it exciting.

Which is a weird reaction.

“Hannibal, it’s… it’s alright,” Will rubs his forehead, “I am not used to this, it’s not my usual style…” he tries to justify the way he usually dresses. It’s just due to that fact that he doesn’t care at all about the impression he makes on people, but the thought of Hannibal finding him attractive is not displeasing at all.

“Is the restaurant you chose this fancy?” Will asks, pointing at the suit.

Hannibal smiles at him. He shakes his head. “No, you don’t have to wear this, it has nothing to do with tonight’s date.”

Grateful that Hannibal called it a date, Will takes the suit up in his arms and carries it bridal style, while Hannibal picks up the black box.

“If you came all the way here to give it to me, I might as well put it to use and honor it as it deserves”, Will decides, “Don’t… don’t expect any major change, though, the cover will not make the content of the book better. You have to be born with some kind of talent, to pull off some of this stuff.”

He turns around and gives Hannibal a very telling glance. The man gives him an amused look in return, but his eyebrows show his disagreement regarding Will’s words.

The suit fits perfectly, it feels like it has always been his, the pants in particular. Will doesn’t know if the curve of his butt looked like that before now, too, or if he should thank the elegant cut of the trousers, softly flowing down his figure and touching the arc in a caress. The shirt, in his pearly white colour, is creating a wonderful contrast with the waistcoat; when Will is done closing each button, the tightness of it looks beautiful on him. The shiny new shoes are not uncomfortable as Will thought they would be. General aesthetics have never really concerned Will much, but right now he would say he looks quite handsome, and he can’t think of many other occasions on which he thought the same.

With one last look at the mirror, he finds himself thinking that the reason he likes himself dressed like this is that he looks like a rougher, more unkempt and a bit smaller version of Hannibal. He grabs the tie,the last missing detail, and opens the door that leads to the other room.

Hannibal is reading through the scores placed on the piano. As soon as he sees Will, his expression turns into pure satisfaction and pride, and Will decides that he likes being looked at like that.

“How did you get the size perfectly right?” Will stretches his arms to show the way the whole suit clings to his body. Hannibal gets closer and steals the tie from Will’s hands, holds it behind his back as he folds his collar upwards.

“It’s specifically tailored to fit your body. I am good at observing, something I learned thanks to my passion for drawing.”

“You didn’t really have to guess with me anyway,” Will admits, somewhere between teasing and embarrassed. Hannibal had all the time he needed to get his measurements at least twenty times, in the shower.

Hannibal is now knotting his tie in some complex way.

“That may have helped,” he concludes, after considering for a while. Then he adds: “You have great assets, it would be a shame if they weren’t properly underlined.”

“My asset is quite underlined by this pair of pants.”

They both start laughing and Will feels like it has been too long since they joked together in such a relaxed way. After all, he is to blame for the recent tension between them, and now he can be sure of that, since he has just said something everyone else would have read some slyness into, while the doctor is just laughing instead.

Being close to him is already enough torture. Will really hopes he will be able to enjoy his company without feeling too frustrated from the lack of physical contact.

Hannibal sneaks a finger under the collar of Will’s shirt and moves it round his neck, to check that the tie is not too tight. Will moves his head to the side to let him do as he pleases and for a fraction of a second, Hannibal’s eyes widen at him and Will really likes the look on his face; he has no idea what it is supposed to mean in their current relationship, but he likes it.

Hannibal runs his hand down the back of Will’s head and then clears his throat. “Shall we go?” he asks him.

Will sways on his feet, nods and follows him.

There are many restaurants that are incredibly expensive even without being excessively fancy. And there are also a lot of restaurants that could be considered elegant but are really not that romantic.

Will is absolutely sure that Hannibal’s taste could not be satisfied in a cheap restaurant, but the one they are sitting in right now must be among the most expensive and fancy ones, and its romantic atmosphere would win even against Paris by night. Hannibal must have chosen this one after Will willingly decided to wear the suit.

The air around them feels like what Will would imagine a date on Valentine’s Day with your significant other to be like; the suffused lighting coming from the candle holders hanging from the ceiling is only supported by some more candles, placed in strategic corners of the room, so that they don’t have to take up space on every table. Will is thankful for that, because that would have been insufferably awkward.

“I come here fairly often, it is the only place that reminds me of the Italian restaurants I have dined in, as a young man. It’s not hard to find this kind of charming place, in Italy,” Hannibal explains as he takes off his jacket and hangs it over the back of his chair. Will does the same and feels better as soon as he does, like one of the constraints imposed by etiquette has just been erased.

“Do you come here alone?” Will asks him, without meaning to inappropriately intrude on Hannibal’s life, but simply wondering if it really makes sense to come there to eat dinner alone. Meanwhile, though, some part of his brain is shaking its head at his foolishness; how can he be so obsessed with the idea of Hannibal never going out on dates with women, lovers? The picture of that blonde woman suddenly appears in his mind again, how did he forget about it until then?

“Not…always,” Hannibal replies with a questioning note in his voice.

“Yes, I know,” Will waves his hand, taking it all back, “I’m sorry, the question made sense in my head, but it really didn’t when I said it out loud.”

“We have all evening to make sense of it,” the doctor encourages.

Will shrugs, almost telling himself that he might as well be honest. “I have a tendency to… I don’t know why, but I am inclined to think that you are as alone as I am. Maybe I took too literally what you told me during one of our first meetings: you said we are just alike.”

“I remember that conversation. You told me you didn’t find me that interesting, back then… or at least not enough to become friendly.”

Will stares at him straight in his eyes for a while, then he nods and looks down.

He forgot that part, as he usually forgets almost everything he says when he is embarrassed, uncomfortable, uneasy because of other people.

“Luckily for me, you were my therapist and I was stuck with you anyway, or that would have been our last meeting, I think,” Will says those word while thinking, as he had often done in his life, that he would never want himself as a friend: he is harsh, standoffish, always about to leave.

Hannibal moves from his seat in front of Will and sits down beside him instead. He places his forearms on the table and leans towards Will.

“That was the exact moment when I started finding you interesting, actually. And also the moment in which I thought I didn’t want you as a patient. Why would I ever want only the company of those who already find me interesting? And moreover… why would I deprive myself of the pleasure of proving you wrong?”

Hannibal concludes with that question, and a very wide smile. Will doesn’t care if there is actual arrogance behind it, or just an amused playfulness. He would bet on arrogance, though.

“So, if I had told Jack that he had to choose someone else, would you have still persevered in bringing me breakfast in bed every morning until I decided you were interesting, too?

“I would have just started attending all your lectures at the Academy,” Hannibal replies, playing with Will’s napkin.

“You would have waited for my lectures to be over and then lured me into one of your charming conversations,” Will retorts, playing along.

“You are not a man easily seduced with facts, or even food. I had to focus on your mind, to earn your interest. Otherwise, I would have invited you out to dinner and bought you a suit a long time ago.”

Will realizes his mouth is almost completely dry and when he tries to moisten his lips, he feels like his tongue is grinding against sandpaper. There is nothing to drink on the table, yet, not even water to offer him some kind of relief. And he still hasn’t said anything, too worried he would start babbling.

The doctor decided he is going to torture him tonight, too? Is he having fun at his expense?

Or is he trying to seduce him?

“If the thought of me being here with someone else is making you jealous, why don’t you just say so, Will?”

Will stares down at his fingers while they press down against the fork, just a little harder and the prongs will pierce through his skin.

“Will…?” Hannibal touches his arm, forcing him to face him again.

Will suddenly turns his face, he talks right into Hannibal’s face, very close to him, and his voice comes out lower than he intended it to be. “Are you having fun?”

“The answer to that question would be yes, but I am not sure what you’re really asking,” Hannibal retorts. His hand closes around Will’s arm and his thumb starts moving in a hypnotic massage.

“Is this a cruel game, just so you can see how long you can go on until I snap, some kind of social experiment?” Will inquires.

Hannibal laughs. “Based on what? You said you are not attracted to me, didn’t you?”

Will relaxing against his chair, slowly exhaling. He snorts and laughs in sudden realization.

“Is this supposed to be punishment because I wasn’t honest? All of this,” Will waves his hand between them, “So that I have to admit to something?”

“You have already confessed that you haven’t been honest, then, do you have anything else to say?” Hannibal keeps holding his arm, touching him through the thin layer of cloth, talking so close to him that Will can smell his cologne, his recently washed clothes, his shampoo.

Will swallows, getting lost in Hannibal’s searching look that both makes him feel like he is the most important human being on the planet, and terrifies him at the same time.

“I am…” Will’s lips bend downwards and he shrugs, “I am attracted to you… Are you satisfied?”

“No.”

Their tormenting game of maintaining eye contact goes on, Will can feel his own eyelids slowly closing because of Hannibal touching him, now softly, with his hand on Will’s side.

“I want you, really badly. Is that any better?” Will is breathing through parted lips, and if Hannibal kissed him now, he would not hesitate to grab his hair and devour him, no matter where they are and who could see them.

“That is better,” Hannibal acknowledges, “But still rather far from complete honesty.”

The waiter approaches their table and Hannibal talks to him as if nothing happened. With a few rapid movements, the man makes the last adjustments to the table, moving cutlery and plate where Hannibal decided to sit instead, and then gives them a menu.

“He didn’t look surprised at all despite our ambiguous situation,” Will comments, clearing his throat and staring at the list of dishes to fake indifference, “He must be used to seeing you flirt with all the dates you bring here,” Will feels entitled to that one sarcastic comment, since Hannibal is putting him through Hell.

“I was here two nights ago with an ex-student, actually, but he was not working that night, so I wouldn’t say he sees me here that often,” Hannibal is reading the menu, too.

They go on provoking each other without looking up, keeping their voices low.

“Is this ex-student blonde?”

“She is, yes.”

“Aren’t you a bit old for ex-students?”

“If it doesn’t bother them, I have no problem with that.”

Will can’t imagine any student who would possibly mind the age gap.

“If your preferences only concern women, I am still pretty sure you are just making fun of me,” Will mutters in a dry tone.

“Stop assuming, Will. It doesn’t suit your intelligence, especially if you try to do it with sexual orientation, outlining something like that as if it were universal. What if you did this to yourself, how could you accept your attraction to me, then?”

“Who told you I accepted it?”

“Interesting. You can worry over the fact that I only like women, and that I am mocking you, but I should not care at all that you are bluntly telling me you find your attraction to me disgusting?”

Will looks up from the menu. “I am not disgusted by that, what the hell do you mean?”

Hannibal raises his hand up in the air. “How can you be unable to accept something, but still find it pleasurable?”

“Okay, I take it back. But who tells you this is not about me being generally attracted to men? Nothing to accept there, you’re straight, I’m gay.”

“You are attracted to, if not in love with, Alana, though. Will…”

“I’m not in love with her!” Will realizes he got carried away and raised his voice when the waiter turns around to look at them. They are isolated from the other customers, though, so no one else is paying attention to them.

Hannibal is smiling at him, his expression unequivocally taunting.

The discussion turned in their usual tug of war, bound to make Will feel uncomfortable as he is always forced to spit out his confessions.

“Just to settle this, Will… I am not engaged in any other relationship that is not connected to my work, and yes, I am just as alone as you are. What are you having?”

 

 

That night, as soon as Will gets home, he takes a very cold shower to calm down. And to try to wash away Hannibal’s scent, still preventing him from thinking straight.

The shower doesn’t help at all, and Will finds himself being able to recall the doctor’s smell the same way his mind is able to evoke his voice. And if he tries hard enough, even the touch of his hands, never too heavy, never enough, but so distinctive.

He lays down on his bed and knows already that he will not get any sleep. Hannibal’s face is still dancing behind his eyelids, Will can see every little expression: his amused half-smile, his arrogant frown, his serious and professional glare.

The way he licks his lips, he opens his mouth, the way his voice lowers and his tongue clicks against his palate when he is annoyed.

This is the first time they have had dinner together since Will admitted his feelings to himself. Eating and sitting so close to him made it easier for him to appreciate how charming Hannibal really is; focusing on his mouth and the way he savors the food is enough to drive Will insane.

Hannibal drove him back home and kissed him goodbye on his neck.

His neck.

Will touches the point where the doctor’s lips brushed against his skin.

Who would kiss that spot, after a date?

Hannibal is weird. A weird, calculating and more than simply interesting man.

And if there is just one chance that the doctor might feel the same way Will does, then he is going to willingly accept Hannibal’s patronizing attitude, the way he is keeping Will on edge, and even this seducing game that is slowly driving him insane.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translated by  
> [BETWEEN-IRONANDSILVER](http://between-ironandsilver.tumblr.com/)

Will is not able to wait anymore, he goes to Hannibal’s office the next day.

When he gets there, he sits down in the waiting room like he’s done dozens of times.

There is no one else, and if the doctor were busy with a patient, he wouldn’t have left the door ajar.

Will looks inside.

Hannibal is sitting at his desk, drawing; his expression is very serious and focused, but it sometimes slightly turns into a small, trembling smile of sincere fondness. His middle finger is brushing the paper to smudge the borders of the figure; he holds his pencil middle air for a few seconds, then goes on sketching.

“Hello Will,” the man whispers, without taking his eyes off his work.

“I didn’t make any noise,” Will states, stepping inside the room. He takes a few more steps, but stops in the middle of the room, far away from Hannibal’s desk.

“You have a very distinctive smell, I don’t need to see you or hear your voice to know you’re here.”

“Useful skill,” Will remarks. _And sexy, too_ , he thinks; how silly it seems now, being upset about Hannibal criticizing his aftershave just a few weeks before…

Hannibal pauses and looks up at him, pencil held between his two index fingers as to measure its length. “What brings you here?” he asks Will.

“I was in the neighborhood…” Will quickly answers.

“You’re lying,” comes Hannibal’s immediate accusation, then the man goes back to drawing, unconcerned, as if Will’s lie had been the reason he has just lost interest in him.

“I wanted to see you,” Will amends.

Hannibal’s eyes are on him again. “May I offer you a glass of wine?”

Will nods. “Thank you.”

As Hannibal gets up to fetch a bottle of wine, Will walks to his desk with slow purposeful steps, and takes a sideways look at the sketch. He instinctively frowns, perplexed, then finally steps in front of the drawing.

His mouth falls open in surprise as soon as he realizes he is the subject portrayed.

In Hannibal’s drawing, Will is stretched out on the bed he slept in a few nights ago, he can tell from the headboard. His pose is rather profligate; his shirt partially revealing his chest, his trousers open and pushed down low on his hips, showing his pubic hair, his legs only slightly parted, the sheet rolled up at his knees.

Will’s arm is bent above his head and his face is turned to the side, his hair wildly disheveled and his eyes closed.

“Do you find this to be accurate?” Hannibal is holding a glass in front of him. Will takes it, a shiver running down his back.

“I… think so,” he whispers. “Is it me? Do I… Do I really look like that?”

Hannibal raises his hand to Will’s face and moves some hair behind his ear. “That it how I imagine you to look like, after…”

“After,” Will repeats. He clears his throat.

Hannibal is sipping on his glass of wine, and Will is finally able to turn around to face him. “Do you usually imagine…? Us?” he mutters.

“I imagine you. Extensively. And what effect my attentions could have on you.”

“What…” Will swallows, “What kind of attentions?”

Hannibal takes another sip, he stares at Will above the edge of his glass. His head is slightly tilted to the side as he swallows. “In my mind, you are always the one who initiates it, demanding what you want from me. And you are always so pliant, eager to receive, to feel, to let yourself go,” Hannibal puts down his glass and stands still behind Will’s back.

“Just like that drawing.”

Hannibal runs his hand through Will’s hair, caressing his nape.

Will can barely stand upright. He puts his own glass down on the desk because he doesn’t want to spill it. Hannibal’s warm voice is violently washing over him, and Will feels like he is panting for air, lost in a new sense of excitement connected to a sense he doesn’t usually use that much, but is apparently so goddamn sexy. Hannibal’s words, spoken directly into his ear, are having the same result that Will’s own hand usually only achieves in minutes.

“What if you could be the Will in my portrait…?” Hannibal does not complete his question, he leaves that to Will. His nose travels down between his shoulder and his earlobe and he smells Will, moving up and then down again along his neck. His upper lip is just barely touching Will’s skin, in a way that should make him ticklish, but it’s just setting him on fire instead.

“You know that… I have already told you that I want you,” Will repeats his confession in an aching murmur, “I want to be on that bed right now. Stop tormenting me…”

“Torturing you is what I want to do now, Will,” Hannibal goes on, brushing against Will’s ear with his lips, “A slow, sublime, exhausting torture. We have very different paces, you and I.”

“Does that mean I will die before you even give me a kiss?”

Hannibal laughs at him, blowing hot air on his neck. Will has to stop himself from moaning, he really wants to bite down on his own hand; Hannibal has all his blood flowing downwards; Will could take himself in his own fist and come just from that.

“Would you like to be kissed, Will?”

“God yes,” Will begs.

“I ask for nothing more but to be able to taste your lips,” Hannibal voice is coming out in a whisper, “Bite on them, suck on them…” he closes his teeth around Will’s ear and gently bites down. Will groans in response. “You must taste so good…”

“Hannibal, please…” Will tilts his head towards him and closes some of the distance between their mouths.

“I have an appointment,” Hannibal shatters the atmosphere, his voice suddenly harsh.

Will shakes his head. “Wait… what?”

Hannibal leaves him feeling dazed in front of his desk and walks to the door. “A patient will be here in a few minutes. He could be here any moment now, it’s better if you go.”

Will exhales, trying to come back to his senses. He has never felt this turned on in his life, and he definitely has never been this horny and then been abandoned like that. He should be in a bathroom or in his bedroom to solve the situation, but Hannibal is just telling him to leave without even flinching.

“If you really ask me to leave this room now,” Will threatens him, “I’ll kill you.”

“I appreciate the picture,” Hannibal retorts. “Hold that thought for next time.”

“There will be no ‘next time’.”

“Of course there will be, Will, I can assure you.”

Of course, how could Hannibal ever doubt Will’s unconditional devotion? There will surely be another time and Will can’t wait for it.

Will is not even sure he can walk. His jeans are so tight on him that they feel glued to his skin, and he still hasn’t recovered from Hannibal’s spell.

The man points to the door from where he is standing, away from Will.

There’s no point discussing. Hannibal’s plan is to leave Will hanging and consuming himself in his own lust a while longer, and that is how it will go. Hannibal has a way of obtaining what he wants.

Will takes his forgotten glass and gulps down all the content in a few sips. He does the same with Hannibal’s.

He walks to the door, puts his hand on the jamb and smiles as he hisses: “Don’t forget your drawing there.”

He is about to leave, but before Hannibal can close the door behind him, he turns his head. “When?” he asks.

“I will call you.”

And then the door slides shut.

Will is expecting he will have to endure a very frustrating time.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translated by  
> [BETWEEN-IRONANDSILVER](http://between-ironandsilver.tumblr.com/)

Busy with work, lectures, and meetings at the laboratory that lead to nothing at all in the Ripper’s case, Will does not see Hannibal for a full week.

Calling him or driving to his place are just not on the table, because Will has no doubts about who is leading between the two of them.

Hannibal told him he was going to call, and Will didn’t believe for a second that he meant in the immediate future.

The man wants to drive him insane and he is well ahead on his way to the finish line.

That’s all Will thinks about every day, starting from the moment he wakes up and Hannibal’s portrait appears in front of his eyes, as if being stretched out on a bed is all it takes to remind him of it, and that goes on until Will is settling in for the night, frantically staring at the phone and hoping it would start ringing.

Will holds his head in his hands, his elbows placed on the table in front of him, he rubs his eyes, his face, irritated and restless; suspended in his own personal limbo made of affection, need to see Hannibal, and pure sexual desire.

Masturbation went from simply expressing a natural physical need to being the inevitable consequence of every fantasy that begins with Hannibal: a pleasure, unfortunately not completely satisfying, that Will indulges in very often. The only one he has.

Hannibal’s hands and mouth are Will’s weak spots, and it takes him a very short time to come, with the thought of having both on him; his lively imagination has only the company of an echo of the doctor’s voice and that drawing, still making him feel bold and desirable like never before.

And he is feeling better; his headaches are fading, his nightmares are being replaced more and more often with wet dreams about Hannibal, and, just like the doctor had promised, both his hallucinations and his memory losses are now just an ugly reminiscence of his past.

Will is sure it all happened thanks to what he feels for Hannibal; it must have roused something inside of him, something that had otherwise been unable to work, something that motivated his brain to find something better to do, other than sinking in depression and stress.

 

 

He is coming back from fishing; his dogs are bounding along beside him, enthusiastic of having Will for themselves for that long.

Winston is walking a bit ahead, as usual, the only stray that never respected hierarchies, not even during his first days with the pack; the dog turns around and starts barking excitedly.

Will immediately recognizes Winston’s warning bark and looks at the house.

A Bentley is parked just in front of it and Hannibal, with his black coat, gloves and scarf, looking like a model out of an advertisement for a sport car, is leaning against the vehicle at his hip, facing Will.

Will gets closer, stopping just a few steps away from the doctor, fish freshly caught still hanging from his hooks and fishing rod thrown over his shoulder.

“You’d better use your eyes to recognize me, this time,” Will jokes. He wants nothing more than standing right in front of Hannibal, but he is not that happy with how he looks compared to the other man. If Hannibal is now the handsome, wealthy professional man in a Bentley commercial, Will feels like he’s some sort of small scarecrow that is put there just to show people what they should avoid, when driving a Bentley.

His self-conscious and negative thoughts about himself and his appearance must have become at least three times the usual amount, recently.

“Fish, plastic boots, mud and sweat…” Hannibal lists, “I’m sorry but I will have to disagree with you, Will, none of these things is spoiling your natural amazing scent. May I come in?” Hannibal points at Will’s door and waits for him to nod. Then he starts walking towards the house, the dogs following him.

Will sighs and then walks around the house,entering through the back door, putting away all his fishing gear and his heavy coat before stepping inside the living room.

When he sees Hannibal again, a few minutes later, he has taken off his coat, gloves, scarf and jacket. He’s wearing a blue shirt, his sleeves rolled up and the first few buttons open, and a pair of dark pants. His hair is pulled back, his face clean shaved.

It hurts Will’s eyes to see how gorgeous he is.

Will thinks about it for a while, it’s not hard to find something more than simple physical attraction in his mind; Hannibal is gorgeous, even just to look at, without adding the ton of stuff that Will wants to do to him or that he would like Hannibal to do to him. He really is handsome and Will would like to have him around more often. This impromptu visit is more than welcomed, it should become routine.

“You don’t seem to be in a hurry, good,” Will says.

“Quite the opposite,” Hannibal joins his hands, “I’m here to have lunch with you. Just a week of eating… whatever it is that you usually eat,” Hannibal waves with his hand in a dismissive way, “And your appearance is already changing. Where do you keep your secret supply of junk food?”

“It’s not secret, I live alone,” Will bites back.

Hannibal walks into the kitchen and, under Will’s worshipping scrutiny, he starts pulling out pans and tools from the cupboards without needing to ask Will to find anything, he moves around as if it were his own kitchen. He remembers where everything is placed with a sniper’s precision, and Will is having so much fun, casting him a softened glance every time Hannibal hesitates and turns around to look for something he can’t immediately find.

At last, he has everything he needs. “Do you want me to prepare the fish you caught?” he asks Will.

His question forces Will away from the contemplative numbness he had fallen into, and he blinks. “O-ok…”

“Are you sure? Would you rather go and buy something else?”

Will shakes his head, “Fish is great.”

“Very well. You may shower now, you can help me when you’re done.”

“You cook for me while I take a shower…” Will repeats, enraptured. Maybe repeating the words will make it easier to process it, because right now he feels like his mind is just making this up, and he must admit his dreams seem to be far more pleasant today.

It feels like Will is never going to run out of first times with Hannibal; surprise lunch prepared for him in his own kitchen… no one had ever done that before. At least not intentionally. Hannibal had to cook him breakfast a couple of times, but planning a whole meal together is entirely different.

“I’ll end up marrying you,” Will mutters, keeping his voice low and making his way to the bathroom.

“If that is going to be the case, keep in mind you will never be allowed snacks outside your meals,” Hannibal replies from the kitchen.

When Will is done showering, he puts on a white t-shirt and a pairs of jeans. He usually walks around barefoot, hopping from carpet to carpet when he wants to move to another room, but he now settles for a more dignified pair of sneakers.

He goes back to the kitchen, “Do you want one of my t-shirts, so that your nice shirt won’t get dirty?” he asks; he shows Hannibal the t-shirt he is holding in his hands.

“That won’t be necessary, and I don’t think it would fit, anyway.”

“You don’t seem to mind wearing too tight clothes,” Will points out.

“I emphasize my body’s most remarkable points to get your attention,” Hannibal winks at him and Will instantly swallows.

“Great job,” he declares with a firm nod.

“Thank you,” Hannibal replies, “But if you really want me to wear that…”

“Oh,” Will pretends to be surprised, “I didn’t know it was my birthday,” he puts a hand on his chest. “Then yes, wear it,” he orders, holding the t-shirt in front of Hannibal. He knows the doctor is not going to obey, though.

Hannibal puts down the knife, placing it beside the fish he still needs to skin, he carefully washes and dries his hands.

Then, one button at a time, he lets his nice shirt fall open and pulls it out of his pants.

Will lowers his hand, still holding the piece of clothing; observing the scene, he feels more intrigued by Hannibal’s shameless vanity and consciousness of his own beauty, than by the nudity itself.

Even though Will can’t stop admiring how beautiful he is.

His strong shoulders and broad chest are qualities Will mentally links to robustness, physical strength and resistance. Those would all be interesting resources in bed…

“Will?” Hannibal calls him. He is asking for the t-shirt, waving his hand, and Will is just standing there looking like an idiot, just as Hannibal expected when he began undressing.

“Oh, yeah, sorry… Here.”

Hannibal takes the t-shirt and puts it on with a smile: it’s a bit tight on his chest and a bit short, too, because of his wider shoulders.

Overall, Hannibal looks like he just left the Bentley commercial and jumped straight into a sexy underwear one.

Will is now sure that anything would look good on him.

“Casual clothes look better on you than… the other ones,” Will mutters, still not sure about how he could define the doctor’s usual style.

“That’s good to know,” Hannibal replies with the tone and attitude of someone who has just been told something they already knew perfectly well.

“What do you want me to do?” Will asks, standing beside Hannibal in front of the cutting board.

“I’m taking care of the fish, you could boil some water and cut the vegetables in the meantime.”

“Oh, wow… you’re really well organized,” Will turns on the stove and fills a pan with water.

He finds some washed vegetables in a bow he didn’t even know he owned.

“There is an unacceptable lack of fresh vegetables in your refrigerator, you have no spices in your kitchen and I struggled to find some carbohydrates, too,” Hannibal lists, “How do you survive?”

“Eating at your place?”

“If I want you alive, maybe that is the only possible solution,” the doctor goes on.

“Appetite is not a problem for me,” Will tells him, starting to cut some lettuce. “My problem is being able to actually cook something edible and willingly spend time doing it.”

“Luckily, you at least fish and eat your catch, one of the healthiest products nature has to offer. I would say you usually just fry it in a pan, or quickly cook it in the oven.”

Will snorts disapprovingly at Hannibal’s remark, but he knows the man is right. When was the last time he even used the oven, anyway?

“Today, you will be trying something more elaborate,” Hannibal promises; his eyes are shining with a knowing look and Will finds it incredibly intimate. It would be really difficult not to get used to this kind of life, if he were given just a chance to fully enjoy it.

It takes Hannibal just a few quick movements to prepare the fish, even though the knife he is using is not really appropriate for the task, _how can a fisherman live without a suitable knife to scale fish?_ He debones the trout and slices through its meat, cutting it into small morsels.

Another couple of minutes and their lunch is slowly cooking on the stove.

“While we wait for this to be ready, we will make dessert,” Hannibal states.

Will frowns. “What are we using for that?”

“Let me wash my hands first.” The doctor picks up a lemon and walks to the sink. He washes his hands for a couple of minutes, using lemon at first, then salt, then soap, until he seems satisfied with the result.

Will laughs at him behind his back, because he seems okay with getting his hands dirty, but then gets squeamish about it the moment after. Because he is refined and elegant, but doesn’t look out of place in places that are really not. Because he looks like the most stuck-up person on Earth, but he’s just the opposite.

He would be a perfect partner for Will, capable of understanding his mind and satisfying him with his cooking, and conversations, and the passions they share, and sex.

God, this is turning into an obsession.

Or it’s just what falling in love feels like.

Or maybe Will is already beyond that. He fell in love with Hannibal a long time ago, without putting any thought in it, just following his racing heart; but now Will thinks he could love this man, seriously love him. For the rest of his life.

He doesn’t even need to find out if there could be chemistry between them in bed, too, because Hannibal proves to him how deep the harmony between them is every single day, and every time Will thinks about him and can almost feel his hands touching him, something that Will definitely does not find unpleasant.

Hannibal calls him back to reality and away from his thoughts once again, and invites him to join him in front of the table.

“A dessert should never be prepared where you have just skinned your fish,” Hannibal explains to an amused Will.

The doctor with his usual mentor’s attitude, and Will listening and learning just like a pupil.

In front of them, honey, now in a bowl that definitely looks more elegant than the previous bear-shaped bottle, sugar, eggs, the only fruit that is still edible, two chocolate bars that survived Will’s sporadic sweet tooth and some plastic cups, still wrapped in their packaging, probably bought to avoid washing glasses and then forgot somewhere in the back of a cupboard.

“You know, not even a skilled thief or a forensic team could examine this house as thoroughly as you just did in half an hour?” Will comments when he sees two small pans, the first one he bought to boil milk in, and the second one he got because he forgot he already had one.

“Not the whole house, just your kitchen. A very small one, actually,” Hannibal retorts, looking from right to left.

“Yes, Doctor, some people live in houses that are smaller than your kitchen. I am one of them.”

“I think your house is lovely,” Hannibal replies, “Small houses get quickly saturated with their owner’s presence. And anything that resembles you can only be agreeable.”

Will stares at him with his mouth open, then throws his hands up in the air. “Why do you say stuff like that?” he bursts out. He is not irritated, just taken by surprise, a bit embarrassed, in a tender and even amused way, by this curious, old-fashioned courtship that is now usually reserved to women.

“Was that inappropriate?” Hannibal asks.

“No, that was…” Will inhales and then loudly exhales, “Nobody has ever told me anything like that.”

“Would you say that I am ordinary, or that I usually speak in an ordinary fashion?”

“No,” Will shakes his head just once, emphasizing his answer.

“And you are just as extraordinary, I will never treat you as if you were just a common man.”

His speech is bordering on arrogance, but Will doesn’t really care, since he is not common people, but the one man standing under the doctor’s spotlight, and there is nowhere else he would rather be.

“I am…” Will is taking many pauses, he knows he’s talking slowly, but he needs to carefully choose how he is going to phrase his statements so that the replies will not hurt too much. “I am someone you’re interested in. Someone you like.”

“I don’t need to clarify that, Will.”

“Well I do,” Will shouts out a bit too fervently. “I need to know if… you quickly get bored of new things.”

“Are you asking if I am going to get bored of you as soon as I’ve had you?”

Will puts his hands on the counter, his head hanging low and almost touching his chest. The doctor’s frankness has always been something Will appreciates about him; he had no idea he would be such a prude and utterly unable to welcome that same honesty once they were talking about sex.

“I give up,” Will declares, showing his palms to the doctor, “Just pretend I didn’t say anything and let’s go on cooking. It’s simpler that way.”

“When did you decide that ‘simpler’ means‘better’?”

“The day I met you,” Will bites back.

“The day you fell in love with me would probably be a more accurate answer,” Hannibal is not letting it go. When he thinks something is interesting enough, he can’t help starting to analyse every single aspect of it, Will knows that. It’s the reason why he is so worried about their relationship and so careful with what he’s revealing.

“Come on, why don’t you just shut up and help me with this?” Will waves at him and avoids the matter.

“Oh, you will enjoy this,” Hannibal winks at him, “Getting your hands dirty while making dessert is quite amusing.”

The doctor guides Will through the main steps, and fifteen minutes later they have some melted chocolate in a pan and a bowl of custard that looks and smell amazing, even though it is not quite as perfect as Hannibal wanted it to be.

“I’m confused again. What now, we mix everything together?” Will asks.

Hannibal looks at him as if he had just announced he is going to jump on a horse and invade a foreign country, by himself, and Will starts laughing. “What did I say?”

“First of all,” Hannibal explains, “We should taste our ingredients. We need to make sure that flavours mix well together, only then our dessert can be carefully assembled as the work of art it deserves to be. Colours, tastes, aromas…”

Hannibal slices an apple, dips the tip of a small piece in custard and holds it in front of Will’s face, for him to eat.

Will’s lips open slightly, but he doesn’t get close, so Hannibal touches the sweet piece of apple to Will’s lips and pushes it inside with his fingers.

Will chews and swallows, whispering a soft “Delicious,” that expresses all his approval for the situation, but doesn’t really satisfy Hannibal, since it’s not a reliable opinion about his custard.

Hannibal cuts another slice for himself and eats it the same way. The unimpressed frown that quickly appears on his face is gone almost immediately.

The pear comes next, going through the same process. This time, though,the piece is smaller, and when Hannibal feeds him with his hand, Will ends up sucking on his fingers, too. And if that hadn’t been enough, as soon as Will is done Hannibal’s fingers disappear in his own mouth, as he cleans them from the remaining custard.

Normally, with anybody else, this is where Will would pull him down in a long, sensual, meticulous kiss. But this is nowhere near the standard situation Will is used to, so he keeps to himself and, just for once, doesn’t break eye contact, which is more or less the last weapon he can use.

“Which one did you prefer?” Hannibal asks.

“I don’t know.”

“Would it be easier to choose if you tried to taste it again? Maybe just the custard, now…”

“That’s a good idea,” Will mumbles, expecting the answer to be _‘Suit yourself, then; there’s a spoon right there, beside you…’_ Hannibal pick up the bowl, instead, sinks his index finger in,until it’s dripping custard, then offers it to Will’s lips.

Will grasps his wrist and pulls his finger closer until it disappears inside his mouth. He moves his head backwards and sucks on it, cleaning it efficiently. Then he licks his lips once, turned on by the way Hannibal turns everything they do into something very intimate.

The doctor softly touches Will’s chin, gradually closing the distance between them until their lips are almost touching, and whispers, “Would you like that kiss I denied you in my office, now?”

They stare at each other for a couple of seconds, the same hunger shining in their eyes…

“No…” Will shrugs, figuring that Hannibal is not going to act on his offer, anyway. If he had that intention, he wouldn’t have asked.

The doctor laughs hoarsely, and Will takes his moment of distraction as an opportunity to lean forward and lick a corner of his mouth, and even though it’s over very quickly, that leaves them both feeling as if they were sinking in sweet, bronze-coloured caramel.

“You are painfully tempting,” Hannibal states.

“But still not enough.”

“Our lunch would be wasted, and that is a crime I will never willingly be guilty of. If I kissed you now, I would keep going all afternoon,” the doctors goes on.

 _Bullshit._ Will would like to say. _That’s all bullshit._

As far as he’s concerned, they could skip lunch, dinner, and any other meal, burn and throw away all the food they can find in his kitchen and then starve for three days. Hannibal would never allow any of that, though, but Will doesn’t think the reason for that is just honest concern with food waste.

“Let’s get this done, then,” Will finally says, despite how hard it is. This is an exhausting game, and the only small satisfaction Will is getting out of it is the spark of wild rapture he can see in Hannibal’s eyes; the longer you need to finally catch your prey, the more satisfying it will feel.

Today, Will is not really feeling like prey though, but more like a caged animal. He’s among the ones that get attached to the person who puts them in the cage, and now feels like he should thank his captor just because he hasn’t eaten him, yet.

What a great comparison.

Hannibal is never satisfied with just eating something; the presentation is essential, a ritual he patiently goes through even though their lunch is informal and quite improvised, too. Simple fruit and some custard turn into a diced fruit salad on a thick layer of custard, served in an elegant chocolate cup.

Even creating those cups turns into a sensual game, and running their tongues through theirs fingers or over their lips, covered in chocolate, looks like something unmistakably erotic, even though each of them is sucking on their own fingers.

They finally have lunch: rice with fresh trout bites, cooked to perfection.

Will is in a good mood, he feels on edge and constantly excited because of Hannibal, but not in a frustrating way, not now. He is not feeling seduced and unsatisfied, but more like he’s part of a couple, sharing some peaceful intimate moments.

Sex may come as something more later, or maybe not. It will happen some other day, it doesn’t matter, because they are going to be together again tomorrow, anyway.

And even if they are not, because at this point Will does not feel sure of anything anymore, it’s still impossible not to feel softened by the idea of just being a couple.

Will has to keep himself from asking Hannibal to spend the rest of the day there, and then sleep over at his place when night comes, so that he can be the first thing Will sees in the morning.

While Hannibal is putting together their desserts, because of course they can’t eat them like that, Will stands still and observes, loving his obsessive preciseness; he puts the diced fruit inside the elegant chocolate cups, then carefully fills them with custard, letting it flow like hot lava. He serves the cups on small plates, a tablespoon on the side and apple and pear slices all around, finely arranged in a decoration.

 _I want this man to be mine_ , Will thinks, almost frightened by the sudden violence of his own thoughts. And yet the mere thought of being with this same man in a closed room, even just for a few moments, had been almost unacceptable only a month ago.

After the second delicious spoon of custard, Will finally musters up the courage to talk. Once he’s started, words stumble out of his mouth without a pause. “I know this is not your kind of thing, but there is this… sort of local fair… in a few days, it’s for charity. It’s basically just this horse stable trying to support itself with donations. They do the usual stuff: some stands, some food, some more food… Food you would never eat…”

He keeps going because Hannibal is not replying and Will feels like an idiot for asking the prettiest girl of the whole school out on a date. The prettiest and most inaccessible one.

“Interesting,” Hannibal finally says, “I was going to ask you the same thing.” He carefully cleans his mouth with a tissue. “If indeed you meant it as an invitation to go together to the exhibition.”

Will nods with a grimace. “Exhibition,” he repeats, “Yes, it was an invitation.”

“I didn’t think you knew about it. You never gave me the impression of someone who would be at ease among so many people… But anyway, I will gladly go with you,” Hannibal concludes with a gentle shrug.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation by  
> [BETWEEN-IRONANDSILVER](http://between-ironandsilver.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I thank Ashley so much for finding the time to finish the translation of this story among all the things she has to do.   
> Two more chapters and you'll know everything. :)
> 
> Thank you for reading.

It’s just a horse exhibition, and a few stands in the street outside, so Will has no intention of dressing up for that; but when he looks in the mirror before going out that night, he still feels proud of the result, knowing he at least did his best.

There’s no denying it anymore, he’s trying to seduce his psychiatrist, he’s trying with all he’s got.

Sometimes he feels like he has almost succeeded.

He calls a taxi to get to Hannibal’s place. They had a five minutes long discussion that morning, about who should meet who and where, and Will had the better hand. But now he doesn’t really feel like driving all the way there, he’s not sure that would be a good idea. He’s distracted.

He’s been making up slow-motion scenes in his mind for the past three days, they are all about tonight’s date, but some of them are simple and funny, other ones are more heated, some are even catastrophic. When the imaginary scenes fade, he’s left with the taste of custard and Hannibal’s skin in his mouth, remembering how he enthusiastically sucked on his finger.

He can still taste him on his lips on the trip there, and as he’s standing in front of Hannibal’s house and ringing the doorbell.

The doctor opens the door.

“H-hi,” Will stutters, his mouth and throat now completely dry, the sweet flavour of custard completely gone, together with the ability of choosing the words coming out of him.

“Is this what you meant?” Hannibal asks, stretching out his arms and looking down at himself.

Okay, who was trying to seduce the other, now? Damn this man.

“Yes,” Will nods, smiling and scratching his forehead. He looks away and takes a step inside when Hannibal invites him in with a slight wave.

“I’ll be just a moment,” the man says, walking down the hallway, barefoot and graceful, and then disappearing behind the first door.

Will is somehow amused by how embarrassed he feels. He’s never looked at someone and enjoyed admiring how attractive they are in their clothes, while wanting so badly to undress them, at the same time.

Hannibal took Will’s comment about causal clothing quite literally, and he’s dressed almost shabbily. Even though he’s just wearing a very plain shirt and a pair of jeans, his natural grace makes him look like a fucking model, almost wild in those clothes, so different from his usual ones. And even sexier because of that.

When Hannibal steps out of the room, he is showing off some more interesting clothes; a leather jacket and a scarf, closed around his neck with a tie knot. His hair is not pulled back, it’s soft and freely falling over his eyes and framing his face on both sides. The doctor is already running a hand through its straight strands every few seconds, seemingly irritated.

Will is not sure he’ll be able to keep calm through the evening.

 

 

 

They’re sitting together at one of the tables outside, under the trees, where the stands are way fewer and people are looking for a place to sit down and rest, after the long walk.

The area is almost completely empty; there is a show inside the stables, some kind of open jumping competition, the biggest event of the night, but Hannibal is not particularly interested in seeing that, and Will surely won’t be the one to insist.

Some of the food stands outside are already closing, but Will was at least able to buy a sandwich and a soda to soothe his hunger.

“Please,” Hannibal whispers, disgusted, while Will swallows a huge bite of his sandwich. “If you are that hungry, we can at least walk to the restaurant at the end of the street.”

“You still wouldn’t be satisfied, why should we bother? I’ll be done with this very quickly, you won’t have to suffer long.”

Will offers his soda and Hannibal takes a sip. His voice comes out in the most disgusted sound Will has ever heard and he almost chokes on his food; because this nauseatingly beautiful and elegant grown-up man is still downright adorable in his fancy obsessions, and Will can’t help being amused and touched.

“Are you this fussy in bed, too?” Will can’t help but ask.

Hannibal looks at him, his eyebrow climbing up on his forehead. “I’ve never had any kind of sexual encounter with a soft drink,” he replies in a didactic tone. “And be careful not to put too much of this awful products in your body, Will, or you will spoil your delicious taste.”

Choosing to ignore any possible innuendo, Will offers his arm, “Do you want to give it a try? I haven’t forgotten you could actually be the Ripper…”

“And you’re trying to trick me into confession, giving yourself up as a meal?” Hannibal asks. He grasps his arm tightly and presses his lips to his skin.

“I can run back to Jack and tell him everything with what is left of my body. Just spare my tongue and one of my legs,” Will takes another bite of his sandwich.

“That would be exactly where I would start from. Even though I must say, when it comes to you the decision would be harder, I can’t imagine preferring one part of your body over the other,” he gently presses his teeth into Will’s wrist, biting until he leaves a mark, then his lips start stroking the same spot; he’s looking in front of him, as if considering something.

Will is reminded of one of those vampires movies, the ones with a human being surrendering themselves and giving their body and blood away, a gift to satisfy the beloved monster’s hunger.

There’s something about blood that he has always found fascinating; despite the fact that his peculiar talent and his collaboration with the FBI have always shown him horrifying scenes, blood is still a symbol of life in his mind, something he’s not afraid of, even if he’s watching it gushing out of his own body. Which is actually quite the paradox, since blood running out of your body doesn’t make you more alive, it actually kills you.

Will loses any interest in his sandwich, puts it down on the bench. He moves from where he is sitting and gets closer to Hannibal until their heads, their shoulders and their legs are touching. “Bite again,” he whispers. He puts his free hand on Hannibal’s leg and squeezes lightly.

Hannibal turns to look at him, but his mouth is still on the same spot on Will’s wrist. It suddenly open again, teeth sinking on tender flesh, and Will tenses, grunting a soft “Ah!” that almost comes out as a sigh.

Their fingers entwine, and Hannibal pulls him closer by the hip and holds him tight. “Would you really tell Jack? If I really were the Ripper, would you turn me in?”

Will’s wide smile gradually fades into seriousness. “Are you testing my feelings…” he asks, “Making hypothesis on how far I would go for you?”

Hannibal swallows and nods.

He looks serious, Will has never seen him this serious before, not even when they spent whole afternoons discussing criminals. How can a question based on nothing mean this much to him?

It’s like chatting about what they would do if they won the lottery.

A streetlight suddenly lights up and a yellow bright stripe appears right in front of them. Then another one, and another one again.

Confused voices are blaring out of the speakers inside the stables, then a few jingles start playing, the same kind that plays after baseball matches, and then people are coming out of the building and flooding the road just outside the park.

Hannibal doesn’t let go of Will’s hand, he’s still hugging him, but his question is vanishing in the air between them, as if the right time to give a proper answer were already gone. And Will doesn’t really care about it that much, so the thought that it could have been something significant fades away just as quickly.

“Are you coming back to my place with me, Will?” Hannibal asks, and Will can hear him even above the noise of children running around the few stands that are still open.

Will nods with a smile. “Let’s look for a taxi.”

They start walking the street in front of the fair, looking around. Hannibal is wrapping his jacket around himself, hands inside his pockets. He’s hiding his face behind his scarf and Will wants to hug him.

He sometimes feels like he has to physically restrain himself from being overly sweet with Hannibal, and he knows those moments prove that his feelings for the man rapidly evolved from curiosity to love, and that those feelings are not going to be short-lived.

The doctor waves and a car stops in front of them. The driver acknowledges Hannibal’s instructions with a single nod.

“Is everything alright?” Will asks, gently touching Hannibal’s arm. “You look pensive.”

“That seems to be a condition neither of us is able to avoid, don’t you think?” Hannibal replies, looking at him. His head falls back against his seat and he lifts his hand, caressing Will’s cheek with the back of it.

Will only leans forward a couple of inches, and then his lips are close enough to kiss the doctor’s forehead. Something he’s bold enough to do only thanks to the quiet sort of intimacy that they have been sharing for a while now.

It feels more awkward than Hannibal’s weird massage with the sponge, and even more awkward than seeing his half-naked portrait… but it’s spontaneous and heartfelt, too.

This man sitting in front of him doesn’t need to be protected or taken care of, but Will still feels like he needs to make sure he’s safe, and he’s moved by how precious Hannibal is to him.

He’s thinking about that when he meets Hannibal’s eyes, finding them fixed on him and clouded with desire; they are just barely open, as if Hannibal were about to fall asleep, but Will can see anything but tiredness in his dilated pupils.

Hannibal’s palm strokes his cheek. He’s done that a few times before, and Will has grown fond of it. He loves how his skin immediately warms up under Hannibal’s hand, he loves that his own lips can touch the inner part of the man’s wrist, if he tilts his head just slightly to the side…

“You are so beautiful,” Hannibal whispers, moving his thumb over Will’s cheekbone.

“Hannibal…”

“You can stop here, thank you,” Hannibal says louder for the driver to hear. “Let’s walk back, shall we?” he weaves his hand at Will and opens the door.

Will shakes his head, following him. Hannibal is always making decisions for both of them, without even waiting for him to agree. Will is not upset about it, though, because more often than not, what Hannibal chooses is what Will would want, too. They’re not far from home and Will doesn’t mind walking.

“You’re the best at changing topics, and changing atmosphere, and running away…” Will lists, trying to sound unaffected and pushing his hands deeper inside his pockets as he quickly walks beside Hannibal.

“Running away…” the man repeats, seemingly pondering his words, “What exactly am I running from, Will?”

Will just shrugs, at first. Then he frowns, “It’s not your fault,” he acknowledges, “It would be easier if nothing else got in the way, now. It would have been easier, a couple of days ago.”

Hannibal looks at him as if he had just started speaking in an obscure foreign language. Will picks up his pace. “I’m freezing, Hannibal, hurry up. Will you at least give me something to warm up, once we’re home?”

Hannibal is walking just a few steps behind him as he promises, “I most certainly will.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation by  
> [BETWEEN-IRONANDSILVER](http://between-ironandsilver.tumblr.com/)

They walk silently for a while.

Finally, the road turns into the paved walkway that leads into Hannibal’s house.

They have walked down that same path together before, but tonight, Will looks up from his shoes to observe the space in front of them, and he feels like the path is getting longer and longer with every step they take.

His pace is quick, his steps shorter than Hannibal’s, nervous and jumpy just like him, partially because he needs to be closer to the other man, and partially because he wants to prove himself that their walk will end, sooner or later. Or at least, he thinks he remembers this path had an end, last time he was here.

But wouldn’t walking together be better, though?

What’s the point of finally getting there, if there’s nothing waiting for him inside? Nothing but sensual touches immediately followed by abrupt interruptions that bring him back to reality and deny him even the one wish he expressed out loud: a kiss.

It’s cold outside, and the evening breeze is so humid that Will’s face feels wet. Their silhouettes against the background of old and rich buildings, contrasting with the thick fog around them and illuminated by the headlights, could almost be mistaken for those of two gentlemen, strolling down London streets.

Or even better, Victorian Era gentlemen. If it weren’t for their clothes.

Well, Will’s clothes.

Hannibal’s would be considered classy in other centuries as well, to be fair. Even his plain pair of jeans and leather jacket. Will’s clothes would be thrown in the trash, instead, no matter what the year was. Even though he actually put some effort in getting dressed, today.

Hannibal’s strides are long and resolute; each step followed by the clear and rhythmic sound of his shoes touching the ground.

Will can’t believe he hasn’t noticed before, when Hannibal disappeared in the other room to finish getting dressed, but the man is wearing shiny lace-up leather shoes. Under his jeans. Will smiles and gets lost again in the feeling of warm affection and deep desire to have this man for himself, with all his obsessions and his aversions against anything ordinary.

Because Will is anything but ordinary, so he should rank pretty high in Hannibal’s preferences.

Will’s white sneakers are not making any sound.

He looks up at Hannibal, from time to time. And he can’t read anything on the doctor’s face, as always.

None of his emotions or thoughts are showing in his expressions. The lust that filled his eyes on that taxi is long gone, now.

Will likes to think he is pretty good at understanding each and every shade of people’s emotions, but it doesn’t work like that with Hannibal. Phrases like _“You’re an open book”_ or _“I see right through you”_ lose all meaning when applied to him.

His jaw could be tense and his face dead serious, but he could be telling you that you’re his best friend, or he could be smiling as he cuts through you with sharp and harmful words.

He’s so fucking deceptive.

Will is grateful that he’s not among those who regularly get the latter treatment.

Halfway through the path (Oh, they really are moving, then), Will dares another glance, and he meets Hannibal’s eyes, this time. The man keeps walking, looking at him questioningly.

Will looks away.

Victorian London, isn’t that what he was thinking?

Yeah, more like Whitechapel area. And he’s walking beside Jack the Ripper.

And the man isn’t slowing down, isn’t talking to him, looking at him, smiling, he’s not…

Damn it.

Will smirks almost audibly.

It’s like his smile has just exploded in a loud “Ah!”, without any reason at all, a purely nervous and uncontainable sound that has nothing in common with a joyful laugh.

Will is just grateful that he’s able to blow off some of his anxious energy that way, instead of screaming, or starting to hop around, or wet himself.

Running outside to howl at the moon would have been another embarrassing reaction, even though it’s starting to feel like a very appropriate thing to do.

“May I ask what is troubling you, Will?” Hannibal asks.

What a sneaky bastard. Anyone else would be asking why he’s laughing, but not Hannibal, he knows very well that’s not what Will was doing.

And he also knows there’s a reason for Will’s behavior.

Hannibal is what’s causing all of Will’s tenseness, and he is perfectly aware of that.

“What’s troubling me… let’s see, what could it be?” Will clears his throat and forces a smile, exhaling through his nose like a bull ready to charge. “Are you a sadist, Hannibal? I’d like to know that, once for all.”

The doctor raises both eyebrows and his lips tentatively stretch into a smile (Oh, what an honor!); but he still won’t meet Will’s eyes, and after a few steps his lips bend downwards and he tries to feign complete obliviousness.

Then his beautiful sculpted face turns around to look at him. “So you called me a cannibal, and a serial killer, and now even a sadist,” he whines in a melodramatic tone. And he emphasizes every single word as if they all were names of sex-related activities he would like to try, or at least that is how Will’s body perceives them, his muscles contracting in response, a painful spasm running down his spine.

This man is a curse that is slowly stealing every ounce of his mental health; he’s not satisfied with knowing how shocking and consuming Will’s desire for him is, and he’s not content with playing with him in every possible way, he won’t stop even after he denied him the relief of a single kiss, and knowing that Will is in love with him isn’t enough, either.

Everything that happened before was still easy on Will, though, he knew his feelings were unrequited and that was it; it was painful, of course, but bearable. No, right now Hannibal is making it clear that there’s a chance he may be interested, too, and it’s not that impossible for them to end up together, Will’s feelings may actually be reciprocated, but still, he must wait, without knowing how long or why, exactly.

He’s going insane thinking about Hannibal pressed up against a wall, and if only Hannibal weren’t the evil manipulating mastermind that he is, Will would do that right away, and…

This is not the right moment to be thinking about Hannibal’s tongue.

Walking is becoming quite difficult, and Will can feel his knees starting to give up, desperately needing to sit down somewhere, when he realizes they are finally standing in front of His Majesty’s mansion.

When did they…?

Will could swear he was looking in front of him just a few seconds before, and the path still seemed to be an endless tunnel.

Maybe that impression was due to the emptiness of the yard and of the street nearby, no cars in sight, not even parked outside other houses.

A familiar sound brings Will back to reality. Hannibal is opening the front door: the key moving inside the lock sounds like a distant bell.

In the few seconds that follow, Will imagines himself grasping Hannibal’s shoulders, forcing him to turn around and throwing himself at him, mouth open, in an attempt at eating him, or at least eating the man’s lips. Then he pictures what would happen if he just gave up on the difficult task of turning Hannibal around and he just held him from behind instead, moving away the hem of his coat and biting his neck, or his shoulder, or whatever he could get his mouth on. Finally, he considers getting close enough to whisper in Hannibal’s ear and make confused suggestions about all the surfaces he could lay Will down on, about the positions he could bend Will in or about how many times he could fuck him, even though Will is quite sure that Hannibal doesn’t need suggestions about all that. The doctor just needs to give him the slightest gesture with a finger, and Will would be ready to comply.

Damn his realistic fantasies.

Will realizes he has been staring at a random point above Hannibal’s shoulder with his mouth hanging open for a while, and now Hannibal is standing in front of him, his arms folded. Seemingly without a reason, Hannibal goes on and unzips his leather jacket, then takes off his scarf. “We need to talk,” he announces, and then grabs Will’s open coat and pulls him inside.

With all his recent thoughts and the way Hannibal is manhandling him, Will surrenders and welcomes his growing erection. His expression turns into the equivalent facial manifestation of throwing your hands in the air in desperation.

 _Well, this was totally called for_.

A short giggle escapes him as he thinks of how stupid he’s being, and Hannibal immediately presses him against the door, slamming it shut with the impact.

 _And now you’re not laughing anymore, you idiot,_ Will mentally tells himself.

He clutches at Hannibal’s forearms, the doctor’s hands still firmly gripping his coat, and meets his eyes with great effort.

Hannibal is menacingly looming above him, he’s taller and stronger and way more acute and responsive.

But that is not the real problem. Hannibal is not doing anything special, right now. Will is just so overwhelmed. His mind is trying to make sense of everything causing his drastic response.

First of all: Hannibal’s scent.

Will was surely familiar with it, but right now it’s unrestrained, all at once. He can smell everything: his hair, his mouth, his neck, his leather coat. Will licks his dry lips and mutters a very soft ‘ _Fuck’_ , and he really doesn’t know if Hannibal hears him or not.

The second thing his mind registers are Hannibal’s arms: the part he can feel under his hands, at least.

He tries to dig his fingers a bit deeper into the doctor’s muscles, but he’s as hard as stone under his grip, so Will ends up desperately clutching at him with his fingernails.

He’s asking himself whether Hannibal is as excited as he is, and he’s also wondering how he will react when he will be able to touch Hannibal where he wants to, considering how easily the doctor’s tense muscles are winding him up. His thoughts are not helping at all, if he goes on like this he’ll explode and never make it out of this alive, it can only get worse.

Next thing Will notices, as soon as Hannibal leans forward to whisper close to his lips, making his chin tickle with warm breath and the faint aroma of the sweet and loathed soda, is related to smell but even more with hearing.

Hannibal’s deep voice resonates inside his eardrum and travels down his neck and all the way to his chest, as warm as a sip of good brandy. The rhythm of his words is music for Will’s ears even before he can try to make sense of them.

His accent is marked, more than usual, but his grammar is still flawless. This is something he loves about Hannibal; it feels like all his qualities are working together against Will, trying to drown him in a sea of different sensations until he begs for him, tonight. It’s just a matter of time.

“If I really am as dangerous as you claim, why are you still here, so close to me? You should run,” Hannibal whispers, just millimeters away from Will’s face.

Will closes his eyes and lets the words sink in, glues them together inside his mind, tries to classify their meaning and finally he’s able to remember what they were talking about, before Hannibal decided to press him against the closed door using his whole body.

Will runs his hands down Hannibal’s forearms.

Once.

Twice.

Then he brings both hands up until he reaches his shoulders, and moves them down again with maddening deliberateness.

Or at least maddening for him, since he has to caress black leather instead of Hannibal’s skin.

He’s taking everything he can because he knows it will be taken away again, very soon.

Will is vaguely aware that his eyes are sliding closed, his excitement and this sort of emotional drunkenness caused by his flooded senses showing in his trembling body, mainly in his hands and lips.

He’s stuttering.

“S-sometimes… I-I think that i-if...” Will bites his lower lip and tries to get a hold of himself. He feels like his body is already being shaken by orgasm, he’s sobbing out his words and catching his breath is becoming so hard that he has to squeeze his eyes shut to focus on the simple task.

And Hannibal is not helping at all, he’s just staring at him (Will is sure he is) as if he could pierce a hole through his head. No mercy, not a single attempt at making him feel comfortable. Will opens his eyes and he only finds a small satisfied smile on the doctor’s face.

 _Look at what my presence does to you,_ that smile seems to tell him, _just think of what I could get you to do if I only promised a bit more._

Will knows. He’s known for a while now.

And he doesn’t care at all.

He takes another deep breath and tries to speak as clearly and resolutely as he manages.

“If you came closer to me just to bite me and tear my flesh apart with your teeth, I would let you,” Will emphasizes his statement by stroking Hannibal’s lips with his own closed ones. Hannibal breaks the contact, but he’s still smiling.

“That was better than nothing,” Will goes on, carelessly, because he has already admitted so much to this semi-divine or semi-demonic creature, anyway. “And you have been great with “nothing”, so far.” He stops talking and lets his head fall back against the door, as if those last words had cost him all his remaining energy. His neck is on display for the predator, and Will looks at him straight in his eyes, encouraging him to do what he mentioned just a few seconds before.

If Hannibal were still waiting for an answer to his question about whether Will would turn him in to the police, if he found out Hannibal actually is the Ripper, now he’s getting even more interesting information.

Hannibal bares his teeth, opening his mouth and pressing it just under Will’s right earlobe, closing it on the tense muscle there.

Will presses his back against the door and stands a bit straighter, gaining a few more inches in height. He swallows. Hannibal bites down and then moves backwards with his head, stretching Will’s skin in the process; his incisors are delicate while sliding down, then he finally lets go.

Will’s skin is intact, maybe a bit flustered, but that’s it. Will still feels like a jellyfish stroked his skin and burned him.

The _cannibal_ looks at him, quite amused.

“There are so many sensations I would like to cause and see on your face,” Hannibal says, “My dear Will… shall we start with pain?”

Hannibal drops his coat and moves his hair away from his eyes.

A shiver runs down Will’s back, and it can easily be mistaken for fear, after Hannibal’s words. He sees something in the doctor’s eyes, a sparkle of… smugness? He’s getting off on dominating Will, on being the hungry wolf, ready to devour the small lamb.

And Will would let him…

Hannibal’s fingers are scorching hot on Will’s skin, too. The touch is deliberate; a caress on his forehead and down his eyebrow, he strokes his temple and then moves on his cheekbone and down again, until he reaches his upper lip.

Will opens his mouth when Hannibal’s fingers get close to it, and the doctor slowly runs them around it. Will feels his fingertips touching his teeth and tries to keep himself from surging forward and sucking on one.

It really seems like his best option, he can already taste custard in his mouth again; it’s also the one thing he can actually do in his position, since Hannibal won’t let him kiss him or do anything else at all…

But he doubts Hannibal will even let him close his mouth around a finger, if he’s not the one to allow it.

He’s the one leading the game, he’s been directing everything since the day they met, and tonight more than ever.

And how could it ever be otherwise, when everyone he knows, and Will in particular, is so drawn to him? And isn’t Hannibal’s strong supremacy over him partly the reason why Will felt and savored the desire to have him as something more than a friend he could freely talk with?

Will shakes his head and giggles. This time, his laugh sounds very frustrated.

“You’re a sadist,” he says, resigned. The thought that Hannibal may be just messing around with him is still poking at him.

Many things that would be considered downright cruel by most people are just simple experiments for him. Experiments he can file away after he used them to confirm his hypothesis.

Will can’t help wondering what Hannibal is trying to verify, by holding his friend in his arms while he shakes like a freezing, scared child.

Hannibal grabs his coat again, tugging at it and pressing Will harder against the door; Will’s head thumps against one of the wooden decorations on its surface, and when he winces in pain and moves forward, Hannibal meets his lips in a chaste peck; it only lasts one second, but it’s enough to leave Will’s lips slightly wet.

Will licks them, and even though there is nothing there for him to taste (the kiss was way too brief and innocent) he lets out a groan, different from his previously unsatisfied ones, a very heated sound, wild and primitive.

It conveys his body’s eagerness and his mind’s submission perfectly.

“Whatever you want…” he mumbles to Hannibal, “Do whatever you want… just don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

And here he is, begging for it, it only took a faint kiss.

Will is shamelessly confessing that he would be ready to settle for the smallest thing, he would willingly endure hours of torture and frustration, if it meant that he could have just another kiss, from time to time.

“Whatever I want…” Hannibal considers, “I like that. It’s quite interesting. A very dangerous privilege you’re giving to a sadist,” he states.

Will smiles and nods.

Hannibal kisses him again, allowing their lips to touch a while longer, now, but still keeping them sealed. He breaks the kiss and looks down at Will.

Will’s lips are parted, he’s biting and licking them; he can’t lean forward, so he bangs his head against the door, harder than before. He whines and his pained expression looks a lot like that of a child who has just been denied his favourite treat.

Hannibal lets go of his arms, then, pressing his palms flat against the door, close to Will’s face, one on each side, and he leans forward with all his body. He’s breathing against his neck, he’s smelling him, and Will knows Hannibal loves his smell.

It’s all about their chemistry, their natural attraction. They are a perfect match in any possible way, and being able to explore their bond on a physical level should just be logical at this point, something to be expected, but the denial and delay has really lasted too long, now.

Maybe Hannibal had already planned all this and he has adjusted to the long wait ahead of him, once he had decided, but Will has spent the last months taking in so many new realizations about himself and his desires. And he’s been engaged in a long and exhausting discussion with himself, trying to determine the truth: how long has he been conscious of what Hannibal really means to him? How long has he been longing for him?

Hannibal is still standing so close that their bodies are completely crushed against one another, and he moves so that his cheek is stroking Will’s, slowly rotating his head until the angle allows him to kiss Will’s cheekbone, then his neck.

Hannibal must have foregone his imperative morning shaving routine, it’s unbelievable. Will hadn’t really payed it any attention while they were out, but he can’t ignore it, now. He’s turned on by the rough contact, he feels as if Hannibal had suddenly dragged his fingernails down his back. Their faces, brushing against one another, sound a bit like sandpaper.

“I should have done this the day we met,” Will mutters, without having any idea where he’s going with that. He’s just trying to say something that will get Hannibal to go on until they’re both satisfied.

“What exactly should you have done?” Hannibal asks.

“I should have kissed you right away, to see if you were into me, instead of running away as I did. I should have stayed, found out what your hands could do to me. Find out what mine could do to you…”

Hannibal is still staring at him, the same amused look on his face, and he’s just inches away from his lips, so that Will can barely keep himself from surging forward, when the doctor starts talking again, his eyes clouding with the powerful urge to kiss him; his blood is flowing downwards and his head feels incredibly light and insubstantial. His neck is struggling to hold it upright, despite its weightlessness.

“Yes, you should have,” Hannibal tells him, exaggerating some letters so that his lips stroke Will’s as he talks.

“We should have fucked on that desk,” Will goes on.

He never really cared about expressing his thoughts aloud in front of Hannibal.

Instead, what he was really embarrassed about was getting close to him on a physical level, he had always tried to avoid direct contact, fearing it would just feel awkward. He was so wrong.

There was no trace of that shame in him, now, Will’s needs are the exact opposite of what they used to be. “I should have just confessed that it was true, that you were right and I wanted you, I wanted to have you on the chair you were sitting on, while you were drawing me…”

Urgency.

Desperately needing something makes it so much easier to shamelessly ask for it.

Hannibal nods, encouraging him to go on. He’s probably thinking Will is getting to the interesting part.

“Or maybe on the floor,” Will adds, “Or against a wall… if I had just done that, now you wouldn’t be here, behaving like an asshole, you would already have my tongue deep in your mouth and you’d be the one begging me to go on.”

 _How very bold of you_ , Hannibal’s eyes seem to remark.

Slowly and deliberately, without moving away an inch, Hannibal lifts both hands and drops his jacket to the floor, taking it off with a few quick movements. His scarf follows shortly, his beautiful… cashmere scarf. Yes, that’s definitely cashmere.

Will contemplates Hannibal’s shirt for a few seconds, as he usually does. The cloth is so perfectly tailored around his figure that he almost looks naked.

And the refined fabric does nothing to hide the obscene amount of money Hannibal must have paid for it. All that money spent on futile, even though quite pleasing to look at, bullshit. And Will loves it.

Every time he tries to analyze the doctor’s flaws, he ends up realizing he actually loves each of them. And this is not a good moment to think about that; he’s just admitted that he would let Hannibal eat him alive, he’d rather not confess that he’s hopelessly in love with him, too.

His instinct tells him to put his hands on Hannibal’s hips.

Will complies, but he can’t just keep still, it would be such a wasted opportunity. He moved his hands up and down.

Hannibal does not protest, so Will slowly strokes his chest, stops when his hand is just above the man’s heart, then lets it fall down, following the shirt’s buttons until he reaches his jeans and the belt around Hannibal’s waist. Will violently tugs at it, until the man is possibly even closer than before.

Will imagines suddenly closing his hands around the white collar and tearing Hannibal’s shirt apart, and the picture is very tempting. That thought alone is enough to leave him panting.

If he really did that, then he would be finally able to bite on bare skin, anywhere he wanted, and he would hopefully manage to properly sink his teeth in it, without having to struggle with tense and hard muscle, against which his teeth wouldn’t stand a chance.

Hannibal tears him away from his thoughts. He brusquely grips Will’s neck and forces him to meet his eyes. Will is once again kissed by Hannibal’s closed mouth, his soft lips leaving him after nothing more than a peck worth of an awkward teenager, brutally contrasting with the wild creature Hannibal is proving to be.

The bastard must be the goddamn king of self-restraint, if he still can take all of this.

Will grunts again. “Fuck, kiss me,” he says breathlessly.

Breathless even because of Hannibal’s fingers still closed around his neck. His big hand is covering it completely, but without squeezing too hard, just enough to support Will’s head and keep him from leaning forward again.

“Hannibal, please,” Will begs. He grabs at Hannibal’s wrist with one hand and brings the other up to his shirt, pulling at the collar.

He decides to act on his previous thoughts, he tears the first two buttons open with a sudden jerk and they fall down as he uncovers Hannibal’s shoulder.

Will runs his hand over it, rubbing his palm more than stroking, meaning to leave Hannibal’s skin as hot as the doctor makes Will feel. He wants Hannibal to scream that he needs to stop, that he’s burning him, hurting him, that he feels on fire.

But Hannibal just looks slightly surprised by his pure white shirt’s fate. He observes the buttons on the floor for a while, staring at them where they fell next to his feet, then looks up again.

Will swallows and Hannibal’s hand tightens around his throat, then it lets go, then painfully squeezes again. He’s checking on Will’s pulse with his thumb and index finger; Will’s heart is beating like crazy from the moment Hannibal pushed him against the door.

“You are too absent-minded tonight…” Hannibal whispers.

Absent-minded? What does he mean?

Will is about to ask, when Hannibal starts explaining.

“You are too aroused to properly enjoy our time together. You should learn to control yourself.”

 _Oh, fuck you,_ Will would like to tell him; he would say it, but Hannibal doesn’t give him the time. With a quick movement of his leg, he hits Will’s own and makes him lose his balance.

Will slides against the door, falling to the ground. He’s sitting on the floor and Hannibal pulls him closer and then lays him down completely.

The only thing reassuring Will that he’s still wearing clothes are the cold tiles under his back, but other than that, he feels even more naked than he had been under the doctor’s shower.

How long has this been going on? He can’t recall.

Hannibal kneels between his legs and violently tugs him even closer, then unzips his trousers with a passion in utter contrast with the calm behavior he showed off up until this point.

“Shall we solve your problem right away?” Hannibal asks as his knuckles barely stroke Will’s erection, sensible to even the faintest movement of the air around them.

Will whimpers because of everything going on all at once. Tension, shivers, Hannibal moving him around, the man’s hands suddenly touching him just where he needs it.

“Fuck, Hannibal…” Will closes his eyes, savoring the moment. He has been feeling like he’s about to come since Hannibal started provoking him but now, at last, he’s hit by the pleasure of actual physical contact, of pure, simple touch and stimulation.

Just hold, stroke, press, caress, pump… just do something, fucking hell.

Hannibal leans over him and softly asks, “With my hands or with my mouth? How do you want me to do it?”

The last of Will’s blood still flowing in his brain suddenly gives up on him and he’s abandoned to his dizziness. He licks his own lips, managing to mumbling, “Suck… suck me.”

As soon as Hannibal takes him into his mouth, his fist closing around the base of Will’s cock, he feels incredibly close to the edge. He may have been close to it for quite a few weeks, to be honest. Hannibal moves downwards, swallowing half of his length before lifting his head again, very slowly, his fist closely following his mouth.

Will can’t possibly feel his every movement, it can’t be this distinct despite how quickly Hannibal blows him to completion.

But Will is aware of Hannibal’s grip around him, he’s aware of the texture of his palm, he can almost feel every crease on Hannibal’s skin, and he can feel the heat inside that mouth, and he’s wet, maybe because of Hannibal’s tongue on him, maybe he already was before. He can feel his own foreskin retreating as Hannibal’s lips stretch around the head of his cock again, and his breath catches in his throat.

Hannibal doesn’t allow him time to think about anything else; he strokes him with such a perfect rhythm that Will is sure he couldn’t do any better himself, he does it like this is something he has already done a thousand times before, his movements are rapid and it doesn’t take long for Will to come, choking on air and moaning like a tortured man.

This evening couldn’t end any better than this.

But even though he sounds insatiable to his own ears, Will has the nerve to think that this is not enough.

Hannibal stands up, takes up his jacket and scarf, and leaves Will there, trousers still open, lost in his heavenly bubble of pleasure as he tries to catch his breath.

But he still wants more. He does.

And maybe that was what Hannibal meant when he told him he was too aroused and absent-minded to enjoy their time together.

Will runs a hand through his hair, blindly trying to impose some kind of order on his curls, and sits up. He closes his pants and his mind provides him with a sudden thought that forces him to close his eyes again and take a deep breath: Hannibal swallowed.

Oh, fuck… he knew he was not going to survive this evening; he got rid of his hallucinations and memory losses but now he’s going to lose his sanity like this.

It’s nothing short of pleasurable, that’s for sure, but it’s still toxic.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter!  
> Thank you so much Ashley for translating all this fic. It's been an honour. You did an amazing job, I couldn't have hoped for more.  
> And thanks to all of you who read, commented and left kudos. Thank you from my heart. 
> 
> Translation by  
> [BETWEEN-IRONANDSILVER](http://between-ironandsilver.tumblr.com/)

Will stands up and walks around on unsteady feet; he finds Hannibal in the kitchen.

The doctor smiles at him as soon as he spots him on the doorstep. He has filled two wine glasses and prepared a little bowl of grapes for them to eat. Will has never seen him looking this disheveled, not even early in the morning, and his half-teared shirt goes perfectly well with his current look. Ripping it was the best idea he has had all night.

“Make yourself comfortable, and eat something,” Hannibal offers him grapes, “Something healthy.”

Will takes off his coat and hangs it over the armchair in the corner. Then he grabs the glass of wine and swallows half of it in one go.

“Join me in the living room,” Hannibal gestures.

Will picks up a few grapes from the bowl, then follows him. “Your glass?”

“I don’t need it right now, I’d rather taste you in my mouth a little longer.”

Will’s reaction is clear and undeniable; the sudden stirring in the lower half of his body is almost enough for him to swear out loud: _fuck, I’m not a teenager anymore!_

Hannibal is sitting on the couch, waiting for him. His expression does nothing to conceal how aware he is that he left Will transfixed for a good thirty seconds.

“Hannibal…” Will says, stepping closer. He stops when he’s hovering over him, his half-empty glass in his hand. “If you want to keep me from being distracted and aroused again… this is not how you do it.” He gulps down the remaining wine and sits down beside the other man.

“What I’m trying to do is preventing you from saying something just because the blood flow in your brain is running low at the moment.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Will asks, “Isn’t it the same as being drunk? I’m not lying, I’m just being bolder than what I would normally be.”

“Personally, I think of this as a very efficient torture device. But torture is not always reliable when the original purpose is to seek truth,” Hannibal leans with his elbows on his knees and turns his head sideways to look at Will, “People would be willing to confess anything, under torture. That is why the Holy Inquisition was so successful in hunting witches.”

“You’re not exactly putting me on a rack, though,” Will comments.

“I know you, Will, and that surely wouldn’t get you to be as honest as you are when I’m using my own personal methods.”

“Is there anything I am yet to confess to you?” Will teases, laughing while he leans forward and put his glass down on the coffee table. “Was I not convincing enough?”

“What do you want from me, Will? A kiss?” Hannibal’s vaguely mocking question makes Will’s chest flare up with irritation.

He grits his teeth and stares up at the ceiling. “You were blowing me off just a few minutes ago, what else could I ask for?”

Hannibal puts his hand on Will’s arm and gravely repeats: “Will, what do you want from me?”

Will pulls his arm way from Hannibal’s touch and stands up. His feelings for the doctor are slowly drowning him in a warm flood that keeps rising in his guts.

“Hannibal…” he waves his hands in the air, “I’m in love with you. Are you satisfied? Is it what you wanted to hear? But be careful, I might be slightly horny right now, so who knows if I’m actually being honest.”

Hannibal laughs.

“What difference does it make anyway?” Will goes on, “Tell me, I just don’t get it. You don’t strike me as the _‘I want to make love to you’_ type of man. You’re just looking for a quick fuck, no strings attached.”

Will’s voice drops to a low and melodramatic tone.

“You must be rather disappointed that I haven’t used you for a _‘quick fuck, no strings attached’_ yet,” Hannibal bites back, the crude and vulgar words completely out of place in a man Will had never heard swearing before.

“Oh don’t tell me you feel insulted now, you know perfectly well what I meant,” Will tries to justify himself.

“No, I don’t. And believe me, what you want from our relationship makes all the difference. I don’t think you realize just how much of a difference it would make.”

Will looks at him, his brow furrowed.

Hannibal takes it as an invitation to go on: “If your feelings for me are even half as deep as you’re claiming, you will have to make a decision tonight, and it will be the hardest decision of your life.”

Will swallows and sits closer to him. Hannibal always means what he says, and even though most of it is said in an obscure, enigmatic way, it’s not hard to sense the weight of his words.

“Come here,” Hannibal whispers.

There’s a lot Will is confused about, but one thing he knows for sure is that he wants to wrap his arms around Hannibal, hold him close; and so he does.

Hannibal’s arms wrap so tightly around him that he almost seems scared that Will could slip away otherwise. Will is touched.

“Hannibal…? Are you… are you afraid I don’t want you?” Will is struggling to express his doubts. He buries his face deeper in Hannibal’s neck, hiding there.

“The choice will be entirely yours to make. I will merely… act upon it.”

“Nothing could ever change the way I feel about you,” Will whispers in his ear.

“We’ll talk about it later.”

Hannibal kisses his neck, his cheek, then the corner of his mouth. His lips stroke Will’s own, slow and gentle. This kiss is completely different from the ones they shared against the door, it’s more intimate and it anticipates something more.

Will instinctively opens his mouth, and Hannibal welcomes his initiative, tilting his head to the side and sliding his tongue inside.

Will sits as close as he can to the other man; in the following seconds Will keeps wondering if this is really happening or if his brain is just making things up, as it has been doing lately, but after a short while he just stops thinking and finally surrenders to the whirlwind of sensations enveloping him.

Hannibal’s kisses are not what he expected them to be. He’s not just showing off his experience, putting to good use some sort of meticulous and consolidated technique, he’s actually savoring every inch of Will’s mouth. The younger man is only able to softly lick Hannibal’s lower lip, when the doctor gives him the chance. Hannibal’s mouth is the only thing that matters, the slow movements of his head as he sucks and licks on Will’s lips, leaving them wet all over.

He’s not holding back anymore, and this is so different from soft, innocent pecks on the lips, tongues barely stroking each other, tentative licks that reminded Will of sticking a stamp on an envelope. No, Hannibal is devouring him, his lips greedy and widely parted. And he seems to be enjoying Will even more than one of his elegant meals; in comparison to this, Hannibal’s behavior at his table could be described as hesitant, moderate.

Maybe it was while looking at Hannibal eating that Will had gotten the idea that kissing him would have felt good, but he surely didn’t expect it to be _this_ good; his hands spontaneously close on Hannibal’s back, trying to grab fistfuls of his shirt, struggling against the impossibly tight cloth.

He gives up and digs his fingernails in his own palm, his arms still hanging around Hannibal’s neck; he can’t imagine getting tired of this, he would never willingly pull away, so he just waits for Hannibal to break the kiss.

When he finally does, Will clears his throat, afraid that if he doesn’t, nothing but a low hiss will come out of his mouth. “That was… a great kiss.”

“That was worship,” Hannibal corrects him.

Will has no idea how to reply to that; in his mind, he tells himself once more that Hannibal always means what he says, so if that is the word he chose to use, he didn’t mean anything less.

“And if you follow me to my bedroom,” Hannibal goes on, ignoring Will’s astonished silence, “I will worship you all night long. In any way you will let me, Will. To make up for every time I had you, naked, in my arms, and I couldn’t properly express my veneration.”

“‘Every time’… that only happened once.”

“Yes, just once,” Hannibal agrees after a brief moment of hesitation.

Will stands up and walks to the middle of the room, turning his back to Hannibal. “What makes you think that my feelings for you could change, if I wanted them to?” he turns around and starts unbuttoning his shirt.

He’s halfway done when Hannibal answers: “It’s not something I can be sure of, it’s just what I fear could happen. I think you’re just like me, and we could be magnificent together, but there’s still a chance you are not ready for that.”

Will lets his shirt fall open. “That’s not what I meant.”

He takes off his shirt and throws it on the floor, beside the coffee table.

Hannibal finally stands up and Will takes a step back.

“What did you mean, then?” Hannibal asks without moving, hands clasped behind his back.

“What makes you think… that whatever rule you decide to impose on me… could ever force me to give you up?” he slowly explains, each word clear and deliberate. He opens his belt, pulls it out of the loops, and lets it fall on the floor with his shirt. He kicks his shoes off his feet.

Hannibal blinks unhurriedly, his eyelids sliding close for a second too long, which in his case usually means satisfaction, as Will knows very well by now. Unsurprisingly, the corner of his mouth stretches out in a smug smile.

“I’ve never said I was going to impose any rule. But are you trying to tell me that your heart belongs to me, unconditionally?”

“That wouldn’t mean much,” Will shrugs, “My mind, that’s what belongs to you,” he taps a finger against his temple, “And everything else, too. You just have to come here and take it,” he opens his arms widely.

Hannibal takes a few steps forward, and Will moves backwards.

“Your… behavior is telling me otherwise,” Hannibal states with indifference. “Do you want me to chase you around the house?”

Will points a finger at him, “Good idea,” and sprints out of the door.

Hannibal’s house is big, and Will doesn’t need to know where he’s going, as long as there’s still room to run in front of him. He steps out in the hallway. His feet have barely touched the long decorative carpet when Hannibal grabs him, one hand keeping Will’s mouth shut, the other one on his hip as he lifts him in his arms.

“Will, I’ve been living here for quite a long time,” Hannibal says, his voice dripping sarcasm. Will tries to wiggle out of his grip, legs trashing about. He’s just playing along, but deep down, he’s actually a bit irritated that Hannibal can pick him up that easily. Does he regularly lift people for fun in his free time?

Will lets the sudden thought tickle his mind for a moment, then focuses back on the present moment. He can’t really think about anything else, when Hannibal is holding him like that.

“Every room in this house is directly connected to the adjoining ones, keep that in mind next time you’re running away from me,” Hannibal whispers in his ear.

He opens the door to one of the guest rooms and puts Will down on his feet again. Will takes a few steps inside and recognizes the room: it’s the one he slept in after Hannibal helped him shower that night, and it’s also the same one Hannibal chose for his drawing.

“Doctor…” Will tilts his head to the side, his eyes half closed, his tone more chiding now, “Are you trying to satisfy a repressed fantasy of yours?”

“I hardly ever repress my fantasies, Will.”

“You shouldn’t have restrained yourself when you thought about me for that portrait, you shouldn’t have pushed me away, that night,” Will tries very hard to sound as resentful as he can. Even to his own ears, he sounds more like a whiny spoiled child. Now he just has to stick his tongue out and mumble a _‘serves you right’_ at the end. He laughs to himself.

“It wouldn’t have been wise to wear you out even more, in your conditions, I thought it better to refrain,” the doctor says, extremely serious.

“Oh, sure, you wouldn’t take advantage…” Will nods, mocking him.

“Oh, no, I did take advantage.”

Hannibal is now standing close, and Will’s legs hit the edge of the bed, reminding him of the old times, when the doctor used to constantly and purposefully invade his personal space. The only difference is that the distance between them now feels unbearable.

Will encourages the doctor to go on with a single nod.

Hannibal runs his thumb over Will’s throat, starting from his chin and moving all the way down to his breastbone. “The portrait I made of you was not something out of my imagination, Will. You were sleeping heavily, but your body was still very responsive to the pleasant stimuli I provided.”

It takes Will a moment to remember his dream from that night, the one where the wendigo visited him, the one where he took him into his mouth and sucked him to completion, and it slowly dawns on him that he had not imagined it, that his orgasm had been very real.

“Are you sure I was just sleeping?” he asks, looking up at Hannibal, “You didn’t drug me or something, did you?”

Hannibal shrugs. “You don’t seem upset.”

“Is this the life-changing decision I was supposed to make? Whether I should or should not love a twisted maniac with an obsession for unconscious bodies?”

“No, that is not something I usually enjoy doing…” Hannibal slowly shakes his head, his focused stare never leaving Will’s throat. “It’s you. You are my true obsession. And seeing you abandoned on my bed that night… it felt like watching something that belonged to me, something I could dispose of in any way I pleased.”

Will’s tongue tentatively runs over his lower lip. “It was true,” he swallows, “It still is.”

This isn’t even the worst thing he admitted tonight. Or is it? He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to think of himself anymore; he just knows he needs to be Hannibal’s, as soon as possible. He doesn’t care what he’s just confessed. Maybe it really is awfully sick of him, but he just doesn’t care.

He reaches out to end what he started back in Hannibal’s foyer; the remaining few buttons pop off easily enough, and Will yanks his shirt down, trying to bare Hannibal’s chest completely. He only half succeeds, as the shirt gets stuck around his elbows.

Will pulls him down and meets his mouth in a hungry kiss. He’s panting when their lips part. “Take your clothes off.”

When Hannibal doesn’t immediately comply, Will gets more anxious and eager. “You said I always tell you exactly what I want from you, in your fantasies. I’m telling you now, get naked. And touch me.”

Hannibal leaves his shirt on and works on his belt instead, then on his jeans. He unbuttons them and pulls them down with a swift movement. Will almost regrets asking him to do it on his own; he imagines his own hands caressing Hannibal’s skin as he watches the tight-fitting cloth struggle to slide down his muscular thighs.

Hannibal finally steps out of his jeans.

The task doesn’t take him more than a few seconds, but Will sees it all in slow motion. His hands are trembling with the need to touch and his breath catches in his throat as he observes Hannibal, knowing and seeing that he wants him just as much.

At last, his shirt joins the rest of his clothing on the floor.

“Are you going to keep your clothes on?” Hannibal asks.

Naked in front of him, his eyes shining that way… forget Jack the Ripper, Will feels like he’s staring at a panther right now; a graceful, silent, dangerous and, considering the latest discoveries, insane beast.

He jerkily nods a few times and opens his pants to reveal the striped boxers underneath.

He sits on the edge of the bed and blindly moves backwards to lie down in the middle. He can’t really tell how accurate he’s being, but at least he knows for sure he’s feeling just like the sketched version of himself, burning inside out, the flaming passion portrayed with swift and harmonious pencil strokes now shining brightly in his eyes as they fix on Hannibal’s. He would do anything for a single touch, he’s ready to give him anything he wants, if Hannibal could just touch him already, and the unspoken promise drips from his focused stare and fills the empty space between them.

“Tell me now,” Will’s voice is reduced to a weak whisper.

Hannibal’s knee comes up to rest on the edge of the bed and he repositions the loose strands of soft hair falling over his eyes with a sharp movement of his head. “What do you want to hear?” he asks.

It sounds more like a purr than a question, his voice dropping so low that Will can barely even hear him now. He wants him to whisper and pant directly in his ear.

“No,” Will shakes his head a bit too forcefully, “It’s not about what I want to hear. You know what you wanted to talk to me about, what you needed to tell me.”

“That you belong to me.”

“Do I?” Will raises a single eyebrow.

“Oh, you do, I have no more doubts about that.”

Will knows he must be talking about his absolute acceptance of what Hannibal did to him while he was unconscious that night.

“Why won’t you tell me everything else, then?” he asks. Because he also knows for sure _that_ couldn’t be the reason why Hannibal was afraid of seeing him running away. There must be something else. His mind keeps pointing out how Will doesn’t really know this man, and even the small part of him he thought he knew is really not what it looked like.

And that only leaves him thrilled, shaky, impatient of exploring Hannibal, giddy with the thought of how much he still can and will discover.

Will’s arm stretches out and he waves at him in a silent plea to get closer.

Hannibal crawls on the bed, stopping halfway to press his lips on the small area of Will’s crotch that he exposed when he opened his pants. He kisses his navel, still hovering over his body, then moves up to his collarbone. He finally lies down.

“I will tell you everything, when the right time comes. But to be quite honest, I think you already know, dear Will, it is all hiding somewhere in the dark corners of your mind. Sooner or later, it will come out.”

“And it will scare me away,” Will concluded, still determined to conclude that discussion.

“That doesn’t matter anymore, you’re not going anywhere. You are exactly where you’re supposed to be, by my side,” Hannibal proves just how much he means that with the intensity of his next kiss.

Will’s hand grabs the back of his neck and keeps him from pulling back, dragging his fingers through his hair and trying to get a firm grip while Hannibal’s body presses him down into the mattress. He can’t escape now, he’s trapped both physically and mentally. Hannibal is everything he wants.

He’s ecstatic, but then Hannibal abruptly breaks the kiss. His mouth travels down his chest again, leaving a trail of wet kisses behind. When Hannibal reaches his stomach and pauses to focus on the flushed skin there, Will’s eyes fall close and his lips part around a languid and drawn-out ‘ _yes’_.

Hannibal runs his tongue over the hem of his boxers and Will’s brow furrows in frustration; not enough, it’s just not enough.

“God, you’re driving me insane,” he writhes and grabs fistfuls of blankets. Hannibal’s hair is ticklish where it falls over Will’s hips. “Please…”

His desperate, breathless pleadings have the desired outcome and Hannibal finally takes off his pants and underwear.

Relief washes over Will and he parts his legs wider, allowing Hannibal to settle between them.

“Doesn’t it feel just perfect?” Hannibal mutters. He grinds down against Will, pressing their erections together, and the sudden friction makes Will whimper. Unable to speak, he nods a few times and then throws his head back against the pillows, baring his throat to Hannibal’s teeth. He wraps his legs around the doctor’s hips, meeting his movements with enthusiastic thrusts of his own.

Hannibal gently spreads his legs wider and he adjusts his position. When he pushes down against him again, Will can feel his erection stroking the heated skin behind his testicles. For a moment, he feels drunk on anticipation and anxiety, thinking of what Hannibal could ask or maybe just take, knowing Will wouldn’t deny him.

His head is still turned to the side, his eyes squeeze shut as Hannibal’s hand sneaks between them to help guide his thrusts, more urgent and precise now. His arches back and moans loudly, while Hannibal grunts his appreciation against his temple.

“Have you ever thought about… doing this while I was unconscious?” Will teases.

“I would have had to tell you about it, then…” Hannibal’s reply is softly spoken in his ear. “And that wouldn’t have been nearly as entertaining.”

Another slow movement, a deliberate caress down his side. Will shivers under the unhurried touch and Hannibal quiets down his moans with a kiss.

Will tries to take himself in his hand, desperate for some sort of relief, but Hannibal catches his wrist and pulls him towards him, wrestling him around until their positions are inverted and Will is lying on top of him. Just like the younger man did before, Hannibal puts his legs around him and arches his back until their chests are pressed flush against one another and every part of their bodies is touching.

Will’s reaction to the new position is immediate. Trapped in Hannibal’s sweet and warm embrace, he’s able to touch and stroke wherever he wants. He tugs at Hannibal’s hair and buries his face between his neck and shoulder, meeting Hannibal’s hips in now slightly uncoordinated thrusts and then pushing back against the doctor’s fingers digging in the flesh of his buttocks.              

“Hold me tighter,” he hisses at Hannibal. “Ah, God… yes…”

Hannibal indulges his every wish, follows his lead, presses them impossibly closer. His hand grasps the back of Will’s neck and he pants with the effort of arching his back again, every muscle in his body contracting in pleasure.

Will looks down at him reaching his orgasm, entranced, and that’s enough to shove him over the edge, too. His vision blurs, and the last thing he’s able to see is that usually composed and unperturbed creature finally coming undone, shivering uncontrollably under his touch.

Will holds his breath as he comes, then he melts down in a symphony of moans and broken sobs, and the sound of his heavy pants mix with Hannibal’s as he breathes against his temple and tastes the sweaty skin there.

The new intimate side of the doctor he’s finally allowed to see is everything Will could have hoped for, more essential to him than any spoken confession.

He gets lost in it.

They caringly explore each other, and their new-born complicity already feels like it has been there forever, just waiting for them to figure it out; Will is greedy and his touch is still hurried and impatient, in stark contrast with Hannibal’s slow, deliberate worship. He’s not holding back anymore, though, he doesn’t deny Will his caresses, and the younger man is reminded of that first period when Hannibal was constantly invading his space and Will kept asking himself why.

He understands perfectly well, now.

Their bodies are tangled and Will is safely wrapped in that cosy embrace when he tells Hannibal he loves him. He blames it on the fact he’s still drunk on pleasure. He knows it has nothing to do with that.

Hannibal obviously can’t let it go, and he makes Will say it again and again, until the younger man’s words are nothing but confused, sleepy nonsense.

Each and every admission is rewarded by Hannibal’s lingering kisses and a series of incomprehensible mumbles that suspiciously sound like foreign terms of endearment.

 

 

 

 

Will wakes up in slow, gentle steps.

He doesn’t mind the slight burn in his muscles and the heavy head resting on his chest that greet him good morning.

Hannibal’s ear is pressed over his heart, his lips brushing his nipple.

Will involuntarily hums as memories from the previous night flood his mind, unable to control his reaction. His chest swells up with pure emotion, uncontainable joy. He feels like screaming at the ceiling.

Hannibal’s eyelids flutter open and his lashes tickle his skin.

“Was I that loud?” Will mutters. His voice is still thick with sleep, but he’s grateful he can talk now that Hannibal’s awake.

“The rhythm of your heartbeat changed,” Hannibal calmly said.

“You have so many interesting talents.”

“And you haven’t seen half of them, yet…”

“No,” Will laughs and the blonde head still resting on his chest trembles slightly, “Well… _those_ talents, too. But I was talking about your incredible sense of smell, and apparently your hearing is superhuman, too.”

Hannibal wraps his arms around his middle and presses his lips to his chest. “I have a… natural predisposition for…”

“Sex,” Will cuts in. He chuckles to himself.

“Hunting is what I was going to say,” Hannibal simply corrects.

“Hunting is stupidly easy today, all you need to know is how to use a hunting rifle and where to go to find good game.”

“When I hunt,” Hannibal whispers, “I never seek the assistance of firearms… What is crucial for me isn’t knowing where my preys are hiding, Will, but rather being capable of taking them by surprise.”

Hannibal is slowly speaking against his skin, and he pauses to kiss or smell him from time to time. Will lazily runs his hand up and down his back while he tries to make sense of Hannibal’s words.

“Do you love me, Will?”

“Do you really need me to tell you for the twentieth time?”

“This is not the sort of statement that loses meaning when overused, not for me. The more you say it, the more I’m inclined to believe it.”

“If I didn’t, I would have never said it in the first place,” Will reassures him, “And you should know better than anybody else if I’m lying.”

“That is exactly my problem, Will. I don’t. Your undecipherability is one of the reason I find you so utterly upsetting. I realized some time ago, I had no idea what you truly wanted from me, and I will never know if you are being honest when you say you love me, just like I’ll never be able to predict you.”

“Well, you’re the one talking about certainties, but I’ve never heard you say it back, you know,” Will ventures.

Hannibal lifts his head and meets his eyes. “Would I be here, desperately looking for a sense of security, for something in your words to clutch onto, if I didn’t love you?”

Will props himself up on his elbows. “I love you,” he says, his eyes wide and his gaze unwavering.

He bends down to kiss him, Hannibal lies down on his back to make it easier for the both of them, but the result is just a few wet, loud and short kisses, the position much too uncomfortable for Will’s aching back. He still can’t help but giggle at how silly they are. Everything feels so absurdly amazing.

Hannibal is not laughing, though. He’s deadly serious. His hand very delicately caresses Will’s cheek. “Come with me, Will, I need to show you something,” he softly says, no discernible emotion in his voice. “Downstairs, in my basement.”

 

THE END


End file.
